


The Sixth

by MidnightLoveStories



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, The Addams Family (Movies - Sonnenfeld)
Genre: Adultery, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Family Drama, Forbidden Love, Humor, Morticia / Debbie Friendship, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28488114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightLoveStories/pseuds/MidnightLoveStories
Summary: When Morticia meets Gomez Addams the attraction is instantaneous, mutual and overpowering. Except, he's married to her sister. They cross the line. An alternative take of how they got together, exploring morally grey areas i.e. adultery.The title is derived from the Christian Decalogue aka The Ten Commandments, the sixth being 'Thou shalt not commit adultery'.
Relationships: Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams, Gomez Addams/Ophelia Frump, Morticia Addams / Other
Comments: 30
Kudos: 39





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to LittleObsessions for beta-ing this story and her encouragement. 
> 
> And to Aftenstjerne for no other reason, than being awesome and cheering on for every dumb idea I have for this story.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it! Please read the tags carefully.
> 
> Also, Happy New Year! x

* * *

**The Sixth**

**Chapter 1**

The loft apartment near the Landwehr Canal was almost completely silent, except for the quiet rustling of the pages of the daily newspapers; everything from _Die Welt_ , through _Le Monde_ , to the British _The Times_ laid neatly next to a half-finished breakfast set for two, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the vast space, mixing with the aroma of her morning tea.

The balcony door was open, despite the chilly air and drizzling rain. It was a truly miserable summer this year and Morticia could not be more pleased. Although, perhaps wearing only her black, silk robe was not the most sensible attire in present conditions.

"You've got a letter," Klaus announced, already impeccably dressed in his Bundeswehr uniform, turning the ornamented envelope in his hands."It's from the United States."

It took one look at the envelope to recognize her mother's script, as well as her absurdly decorated stationery. She did not make a move to retrieve the envelope from her lover's hand though, and she watched from the corner of her eye as he put it neatly on the breakfast table, near her half-empty teacup.

"I don't believe I'm familiar with this word," Morticia said, pointing at the newspaper article she was reading, prompting Klaus to peer over her shoulder.

"Den Verfassungsschut," he read out loud."The constitutional protection."

"Hmmm, it does make sense now," she mused."I must say German has the longest words."

"Your German is excellent, Liebchen."

"It's passable," she muttered, lifting the cup to her lips and taking a dainty sip.

"It must be excellent if you managed to get suspended from your history class," Klaus supplied with amusement, placing a small kiss on her pale cheek before taking a seat at the table in the chair opposite hers.

She barely lifted her gaze from the article she was reading.

"The professor is a pompous, self-impressed lowlife...not dissimilar to yourself," she supplied smoothly.

He tilted his head and laughed at her dig.

"So I've heard."

"He can sprout all the philosophies he desires, it doesn't change the fact that eugenics is not a science," she pointed out before adding."The science of the absurd, perhaps."

Klaus muttered in agreement, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

"Nazis did not disappear when we've lost the war, Liebchen," he supplied, his tone unconcerned, as he proceeded to add his customary three heaped teaspoons of sugar into his coffee."In fact, they're doing very well under the current administration."

"Your father certainly does," Morticia pointed out flatly, rising her eyebrow at him.

"Exactly."

Morticia set her teacup onto a saucer and carefully folded the newspaper, putting it on the pile with the others before her gaze dropped to the envelope on the table.

She could already imagine the content of the letter; they seldom differed from one another.

She sighed and picked up the pristine white envelope, trying not to roll her eyes at the gaudy flowery design as she slid her long, vermilion nail under the sealed flap.

She opened the single, folded piece of paper and leaned back in her chair, biting her nail gently as she was suddenly filled with a jolt of lukewarm amusement.

"My sister is getting married," she informed him.

"Oh… how exciting," Klaus commented above the rim of his cup of coffee."I like weddings."

Morticia stared at her mother's neat writing for a moment before slowly and deliberately tearing the letter in two and throwing it on the floor, where it landed soundlessly on the polished wood.

"We should get married," Klaus supplied brazenly, not for the first time. In fact, he'd been pushing the issue for quite some time now.

"Don't be ridiculous," she retorted, barely looking at him, and returned her interest to the article in the newspaper.

It was becoming progressively irritating. Granted, he was ridiculously handsome and she quite enjoyed his company. He was also the first man to actively encourage her passions - whips and chains, pain and lust, and all the delightfully sinful things he allowed her to do to him but she could already feel her interest in him waning. Besides, marriage had never interested her in the slightest.

Her sister, however, was bred for marriage.

"You'd be mad not to marry me."

She finally took her eyes off the newspaper and looked at him with a look that was both coy and mocking at the same time.

"Why, darling, madness is always a preferable state of affair to marriage."

* * *

The house was buzzing with last-minute preparations, her obscenely expensive wedding dress ready and waiting, her make up impeccable - which was just as well because Ophelia hadn't slept a wink the night prior, she was too excited to sleep.

She leaned closer towards the mirror to make sure the dark rings under her eyes were covered; then she dabbed the small brush into a loose powder and blew gently on it before smoothing the small, shiny particles along her cheeks.

"The nerve of that girl."

Her mother, on the other hand, was seething - and rightly so since her sister had apparently decided that the celebration of Ophelia's wedding was not worth her time after all.

How typical of her. Even on such a blissful day, Morticia could not summon an ounce of decency to take part in the most important moment of Ophelia's life.

Jealous as always.

"Oh Mama, you know Morticia," Ophelia tried to appease her frantic mother. "She's such a wild little thing. Wherever is she now, anyway?"

"God only knows," her mother replied, turning the envelope in her hand."It was sent from Berlin two weeks ago."

_My wholehearted congratulations to dear Ophelia upon her wedding. It's always a celebration when one's life ambition has been accomplished._

_I might even attend the feast of snobbery this wedding will inevitably be, providing nothing more enticing comes my way._

_Please send my sincere condolences to the groom._

_Love_

_M._

"Not a word for months and months and now this!" Her mother complained.

"Oh, well maybe for the best," Ophelia mused, not taking her eyes from her reflection in the mirror as she pursed her lips.

"How can you say so?" Her mother said, in disbelief."This wedding is a huge social affair, _everyone_ will be there but your own sister. What will people say?"

"What they always say," Ophelia retorted calmly, picking up a can of hairspray to touch up her hair a bit."Morticia is a peculiar little thing, no point dwelling on her actions. She does as she pleases, as always."

"Feast of snobbery!" Her mother continued."She called your wedding a _feast of snobbery."_

"A delightful feast of snobbery, I say," she smirked."Oh, Mama, I don't care what she thinks, I'm so blissfully happy I could dance on the rooftops."

Truth be told, Ophelia found her sister's behaviour absolutely pathetic, embarrassing - that's what it was. It was only small mercy her fiance was so understanding about her sister's absenteeism, although Ophelia could only imagine what he thought of the fact that her own sister would not be attending their wedding. It was beyond mortifying to have to explain Morticia's behaviour.

Jealous, pathetic little wench; but no matter. She wouldn't let her sister spoil such a blissful day. In less than a few hours, she would officially be Mrs Addams. She would be part of a fortune, she could never have even dreamed of being - not that her own family was poor, far from that - but being an Addams was as close to the aristocracy as one could get.

Highly eccentric, yes, but eccentricity was a prerogative of those who were as disgustingly rich as the Addamses. When a fortune like that came to play, no one gave a tinker's wink about their peculiar behavior. Why, all her friends had almost died of jealousy when she told them about her engagement.

She could have never imagined a better husband for herself - rich, charming and so unbearably handsome, Ophelia was sure she would be envied through the whole of eternity. Gomez Addams was better than any man she could have ever dreamed of, they were an absolutely stunning couple - especially when it was validated on Page Six.

Her mother's features softened.

"As you should," she smiled and came over to stand behind Ophelia's chair, resting her hands on her daughter's shoulders."I'm so happy for you, my darling, and we're all so proud of you."

Ophelia beamed at her, wrapping her hand around her mother's palm.

"This is the life I've always dreamed of, Mama," she said, biting gently at her bottom lip." Gomez is everything I ever wanted and more," she mused happily."He's so suave and handsome and rich. Oh Mama, I feel like I'm living a dream."

* * *

The room was dark and the air heavy with the scent of cigars as Gomez Addams laid stretched on his four-poster bed, cigar in one hand, his left arm propped under his head, bedsheets spread lazily over his naked body, silently pondering his last few hours of bachelorhood.

It was an unbearably hot summer and even the Addams mansion wasn't able to escape its humid, oppressive heat. Just as well, he thought, it was only suitable that the weather on his wedding day would be depressingly sunny.

Oh, perhaps he was being unfair.

She was a nice girl, after all, perhaps a bit too flighty but certainly very beautiful and the sex wasn't bad at all. They were a suitable match - at least according to his father - and Gomez did not necessarily disagree with that assessment. Maybe, a little, possibly. She said she loved him and maybe she did. Not that it mattered but it was a nice feeling - to be loved. A bit overwhelming perhaps; it was disconcerting to look into her eyes and see such an open adoration, knowing he would probably never look at her that way.

Not that it mattered. Love mattered the least in this union.

It was the right thing to do. This was what he owed his parents for his despicable actions. This was what he deserved for his betrayal.

And he longed to punish himself, as he had these past ten years. And this marriage, depressing as it was to him, was what his parents wanted. This was what he owed them.

He longed to prove to them that he could be more than his selfish actions. He could have a wife and children that would carry the Addams name.

He would do things as they should be done.

Perhaps Mama was right, this was what he needed - a wife and a family -, some routine into the otherwise chaotic mess that was Gomez Addams. Something stable and predictable, instead of chasing constant excitement. He wasn't entirely opposed to that.

Many of his friends had crossed the line into the life of holy matrimony and they were not complaining. They had gotten married, had children, some had mistresses, some didn't but, all in all, nobody was complaining. It was the natural way of things. Marriage, children and all that.

Children.

This time next year they would probably welcome their first child. He realized he wasn't opposed to that either. It would be nice to have someone to love.

The door to his bedroom opened swiftly, without the courtesy of knocking, but he couldn't help but smile when his cousin barged in.

_Why isn't it the lucky groom!_

"You should be a comedian, Itt," he deadpanned, releasing a grey puff of smoke from his lips.

_Cold feet?_

Gomez shrugged at the question as he watched his cousin walk over to the window and pull the heavy curtains aside. He frowned when the sharp rays of sunshine fell directly on his face.

_The ceremony starts in forty minutes, get your arse out of the bed and into the shower._

"I have time," he insisted."Pull the blinds, old man, this sunshine is unbearable."

Itt blatantly ignored his request, coming closer to the bed.

_Your mother told me to tell you that if you'll be late for your own wedding she will skin you alive and feed you to the vultures._

He smirked.

"Now, why is this a more enticing prospect than my wedding -"

_Don't be a drama queen. Your bride is already on her way._

Gomez sighed in exasperation, the wedding was taking place at the mansion anyway, all he had to do was walk downstairs.

"I have time," he repeated, taking another puff of his cigar.

 _Come on now, make some effort,_ his cousin admonished, _surely you don't want those daisies to faint in disappointment._

Gomez couldn't help but snort in amusement.

"No," he replied quietly."I certainly wouldn't want that."

 _Mooove,_ Itt urged him again, _your miserable ever after awaits you in thirty-two minutes._

* * *

He stopped at the top of the stairs, momentarily overwhelmed by the task before him but he chastised himself immediately.

Stable and predictable wasn't bad and he owed his family some stability.

He caused them enough drama to last for a lifetime, he told himself as he inhaled deeply and slowly descended the stairs into this new, wholly stable and predictable life of holy matrimony.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Through the course of her slightly over three-months long marriage to Gomez Addams, Ophelia was certain life could not get better. She was part of an unimaginable fortune and her social circle had expanded, upon her very engagement to Gomez, so rapidly towards the upper echelons of the society, that it was almost overwhelming.

For all her grandmother's biting remarks that her mother was breeding her for marriage, she was never more grateful for the said breeding than now, when she had to navigate the complex social circles of politicians and business magnates as Mrs Addams. There was a completely different set of expectations placed upon her. It was challenging, yes, but she absolutely loved it and was determined to thrive.

There were a lot of demands on her; business dinners and various social affairs to attend and all those women insisting she joined and supported their charities. Oh, that reminded her, she had to decide which charities to join. Her mother-in-law had suggested Widows and Orphans but, truth be told, Ophelia couldn't care less, such things bored her to death. Yet, it was a small sacrifice for all the benefits that came with being Mrs Addams.

Today was particularly exciting, she was on her way to collect her brand new car - a red Ferrari. It may have been obscenely expensive and perhaps a bit ostentatious, but she loved it. She always wanted to have one but her father, for all his money, was against extravagant spending, God only knew why. Her husband, however, did not have any such objections. He only slightly winced when she showed him which car she wanted, and then promptly signed the cheque.

Obviously, they had different tastes when it came to cars but, nevertheless, he readily agreed - as long as he didn't have to ride in it. Well, she saw no problem in that since whenever they went out together, they always had a driver anyway. Her husband also had an unfortunate fondness for that green antique vehicle, whatever the name of it was. It really didn't matter, because, in her opinion, the old thing belonged in a museum.

Thankfully, she wouldn't have to use it today when she went to the club later with her friends. She would make quite an entrance with her red, shiny Ferrari - no, doubt about that. She felt almost giddy with excitement.

Truly, life could not get better than this.

Actually, she thought as she passed through the dusty corridors of the Addams Manor, it probably could.

God, she loathed this old mansion. She couldn't imagine inviting anyone to this place, at least not before she renovated the hell out of it, anyway.

She already had an architect and a decorator in mind who'd help her transform the ancient dump, it was just a question of convincing her husband and her in-laws to give her free reign.

That, or ideally, she and Gomez could get their own place - some nice mansion in the suburbs. Living with her in-laws certainly wasn't something she was crazy about. Even though both of them were perfectly welcoming. Her father-in-law especially seemed to be delighted at his son's marriage to Ophelia.

And why wouldn't he be?

They were a perfect match.

Gomez was an ideal husband, she had no doubt that in the course of their short union he had come to absolutely adore her because he readily indulged her every whim. She could spend as much money as her heart desired as long as it made her happy -

She stopped in her tracks as the sudden weight pressed against her shoulder.

"Ugh, I told you to stay out of my way, you little freak," she hissed angrily when a decapitated hand landed on her shoulder. "Get off me."

Thing jumped on the floor and tapped unhappily.

"Oh, I don't care about the mail," she rebuked him. "Give it to Gomez or someone, for God's sake. Why do you even bother me with that?"

Ophelia rolled her eyes in exasperation at the frantic tapping that followed and unceremoniously moved past Thing, resisting the urge to step on top of him.

"One day I'm going to give you away to the zoo, where you belong," she muttered. "Together with that zombie butler."

* * *

Gomez Addams frowned at the documents before him. He had been reading through the contracts since the morning and the letters were starting to merge together. He took a glance at his watch and sighed. It was almost midday, no wonder he was starting to see double; he should have taken a break hours ago. He hadn't even had a chance to look at the stock markets today.

He lifted his head from the mountain of paperwork at the sound of the light knock.

"Hey," he smiled and nodded at his wife. "You look nice, going somewhere?"

She wore a powder blue tweed blazer with a matching skirt and nude, suede pumps, all completed, naturally, with the array of daisies which seemed to be her signature look these days.

She smiled back and nodded in confirmation.

"It's Chanel," she informed him, pointing to her outfit. "I just came to let you know that I'm on my way out to pick up the car."

"Oh, right," he replied, leaning back in his chair. He had completely forgotten she had bought this red atrocity."Well, have fun testing it out."

"Oh, I will," she smiled."Holly and Vanessa are coming with me. We will go to the club afterwards."

He smiled and nodded at her, not sure what else he could say to that.

"Are you working from home today?" she asked, looking at the mountain of documents on his desk.

"Until the afternoon," he replied. "I have a few meetings in the city later."

"Oh, okay," she retorted flatly and checked her long, polished nails briefly."I thought we could go out to dinner together."

"I don't think I can make it tonight."

Ophelia wrinkled her nose and made a clicking sound with her tongue.

"Oh, you poor thing," she smiled sympathetically and perched at the edge of his desk."You're working too hard."

She reached to touch his face and leaned forward to kiss him.

"We haven't had dinner together for ages," she pouted.

"We had dinner together last week," he pointed out.

"Gerald and Holly went to this new place in Manhattan," she told him, ignoring his comment."It's very popular, we should go as well. How about a double date with Gerald and Holly?"

Gomez almost groaned out loud. His wife's friends seemed to be the exact copies of herself, he could swear they came out from the same factory line.

He always felt exhausted after their evenings together, although Holly's husband seemed to feel the same way so at least he could count on a good company in his misery.

"Sounds like a lovely idea," he conceded.

She beamed at him happily.

"Oh wonderful, I will book us a table for tomorrow night," she grinned."I gotta go, I'll see you in the evening, don't work too hard."

He waited until he heard the sound of the front door closing and leaned against his leather chair. He tilted his head and exhaled tiredly, already dreading tomorrow evening.

God, he should stop being such a bastard to her. He should stop behaving like a hermit. It wasn't like him at all.

Ophelia was right, they were a young married couple: they should go out, have fun, do what married couples did. He should take her out more, at least twice, or three times a week.

He should spend more time with her, instead of burying himself with work - although, it wasn't entirely deliberate. Until they found a new accountant, Gomez had to make sure the books were in order and that took a huge chunk of his time.

He should make more effort, though, maybe they could find something in common with Ophelia - a hobby they could share together.

Well, they both liked large parties, so at least that they had that in common, but other than that Ophelia's main interest was - well, herself, to be honest. It was almost bizarre but she really liked to talk about herself - a lot. She seemed to absolutely love being the centre of anyone's attention and went almost berserk when she didn't receive it.

Which, in a way, wasn't a bad thing because she was easy to please that way. As long as she got what she wanted and he paid her enough attention she was happy as a clam.

She didn't even seem to mind that he never said he loved her. She seemed entirely content with their marriage as it was. It occurred to him more and more often these days that she wasn't in love so much with him that with the idea of him. That they had nothing in common, that there will be no companionship between them, they will live not together but next to each other.

He could never love her. He could never give her that, and what he longed for she could never give him either.

He groaned out loud, suddenly irritated with himself.

He had to stop seeing this marriage as a punishment. It wasn't bad at all, and Ophelia wasn't the problem.

He was the bloody problem.

He was startled from his pitiful musings by Thing landing in front of him at the desk, frantically waving and tapping his fingers against the polished surface.

Another groan left his lips.

Thing and Ophelia clashed in a spectacular way. He had no idea how it had started or why but Ophelia absolutely hated the little pet and Thing probably prayed daily for his mistress' early demise.

"Drop it, Thing," he told him, exhausted.."Just stay out of her way."

Thing jumped in front of him again and moved his fingers rapidly.

"I am not under her shoe," Gomez denied, laughing at the insult.

More rapid movement followed.

"And I am not a snivelling coward," he grinned but then he sobered up."I'm just not interested in encouraging any unnecessary drama. Just… try to stay out of her way."

Thing twitched unhappily and jumped off the table.

"She's not that bad," Gomez defended and called after him."And stop calling her Disaster Daisy, it's really not helping!"

* * *

Debbie Jellinsky sighed in annoyance and checked her watch, then sighed in annoyance again, tapping her foot impatiently.

Two-hour delay. Fucking hell.

Two-hour delay and the airport was packed with irritated people waiting to pick up their loved ones. Or whoever they were waiting here to pick up.

She twitched in her chair uncomfortably, she already had two coffees and a martini and she could really use the restroom but then she didn't want some jerk to take her place while she was away.

Well, the plane landed almost twenty minutes ago, according to the board, so Morticia should be here any second now.

Truth be told, Debbie was genuinely excited at the prospect of having a roommate again. She could use some company and Morticia was a really good friend. Well, that and the apartment she was staying at belonged to Morticia anyway.

They met at the bar over two years ago where Debbie was drinking her last bucks, proudly inherited from her latest deceased husband, and contemplating what to do next. She was broke and had no place to stay.

Debbie remembered she made some off-handed comment about Morticia's dress. She wasn't even all that interested in talking to her - she wasn't interested in talking to anyone that night but Morticia looked so unusual - a gothic beauty in the bar frequented by the worst of the city low-lives. God only knew what she was doing there all on her own among all those criminals and wannabe gangsters- most of them Debbie's good friends. Any half-decent woman wouldn't dream about stepping foot in a place like this.

Except for Debbie, that was. And Morticia, apparently.

But then, it was clear that Morticia wasn't just any woman and she could hold her own - happily drinking in the company of men who wouldn't think twice about cutting her throat for a free round of beer.

And that dress. Truly, it was so tight Debbie was curious as to how the other woman was even able to breathe under the constricting material.

And yet, despite her somewhat stand-offish appearance, Morticia had turned out to be really nice, she listened attentively to Debbie's tells of murders, more murders and even more greed. She was very understanding and supportive - they've been best friends ever since. Morticia also paid for their drinks which was certainly a bonus.

She offered Debbie to stay at her apartment rent-free for as long as she needed.

"Fucking finally!" Debbie cried out in delight, ignoring the unhappy looks of the people around her, and waved frantically at the tall woman coming from the arrivals gate.

"Debbie," Morticia grinned at her friend, hugging her affectionately. "What's with the veil?"

"Oh, I'm a widow again," she told her proudly, tapping the fancy black hat with a veil on her head.

"How wonderful, congratulations!" Morticia exclaimed in awe as they waited for the porter to load Morticia's luggage into the car."Was it the Judge?"

"No, that was eight months ago," Debbie corrected."This one was a senator," she informed her, as they both got into Debbie's Mercedes before her lips curled into a mean smirk."Well, he _was_ a senator. Now, he's six feet under."

"Oh no, did I miss the funeral?" Morticia asked, checking her lipstick in the rearview mirror.

"Afraid so."

"Worst luck," she frowned, leaning against the car seat and turned towards her friend."So what was it this time? Tell me."

Debbie smiled at the eagerness in Morticia's tone. Her friend loved all the gory details.

"Ohhh, he mumbled something about love and country and, you know which was fine, who cares but then he told me - listen to this - sorry Debbie, no Mercedes this year, we need to set up an example."

"Oh, that's disgusting."

"Right?" Debbie nodded."So I ran him over with this baby here," she said, patting the car wheel affectionately.

"I'm so gutted I missed it,' Morticia frowned unhappily.

"I took pictures," Debbie said and smiled when her friend's face brightened immediately.

"Aww, you're a gem."

"Got some nice slides, as well."

"Marvellous."

Debbie grinned and started the car, backing out slowly of the tight car park space.

"So… finally decided to come home?" she asked.

"It's my sister's wedding after all," Morticia replied breezily.

"That was over three months ago," Debbie pointed out, biting her lip in amusement.

"Oops."

"Your mother must have been _livid_."

"Oh dear, oh dear," Morticia deadpanned examining her red polished nails."Who did she marry anyway?"

Debbie snorted in amusement.

"You _don't_ know?"

Morticia pursed her lips and shrugged.

"None other than Gomez fucking Addams," Debbie revealed, raising her eyebrows and nodded at her friend.

"Addams? Well, well, I see my dear sister's jumping through those social hoops quite masterly."

"You got that right."

"My mother trained her so well," she supplied in mock awe."I swear she could be a circus ringmaster if she put her mind to it."

* * *

It felt strange to be back in the city, in the country even. Nothing changed much but then she didn't know what changes she expected in those fourteen months she was away, travelling through Europe. The devil only knew why she had decided to come back, anyway.

It was a spontaneous decision, as were most of Morticia's decisions. Three days ago, she was wandering the streets of Prague and felt so unbearably homesick, she bought the ticket back to the States the very same day.

Come to think of it, she could have waited a week or two with that decision because the homesick feeling was entirely gone and yet here she was, back home. 

It was a small mercy that her grandmother gave her this riverside, two-bedroom apartment, overlooking the New York Harbour. It was over a two-hour drive to her parent's house from here which, in Morticia's opinion, was ideal.

Debbie, no doubt, was right that her mother must have been livid when Morticia didn't come for Ophelia's wedding. The lack of any letters from her mother, in the last three months, was a good indication as well. She expected that sparks would fly once she showed up at her parent's house. There was little chance her mother would let that pass.

Her grandmother, on the other hand, found the whole thing hilarious - at least that's the message Morticia had gotten from the older lady's frequent letters, but then Particia Frump cared little for social expectation, or reputations for that matter. Morticia looked forward to at least spending some time with her, she missed her indomitable spirit. Her grandmother was one of a kind.

Morticia smiled at the thought but couldn't help but gasp as she entered her apartment.

"What the devil happened to my plants?" she asked, dropping her purse on the maroon, velvet sofa and going straight away towards the balcony.

"Well, you asked me to take care of them," Debbie pointed out. "The roses bloom beautifully this year, don't you think?"

"Bloom?" Morticia repeated in outrage, touching the red petals with disgust. "They're not supposed to bloom."

"Ehm, yeah they are."

"You're supposed to cut the buds off," she insisted.

"What? No...you're ….you mean all these years you deliberately cut them off?" Debbie asked, putting the pot to brew them some tea."I thought you're just a lousy gardener."

"I'm an excellent gardener...oh, my poor darlings."

"Oh, relax, just cut them off then," Debbie rolled her eyes."This apartment looks like a jungle anyway. Also, did you know that most of your plants are poisonous?"

Morticia took one last, pained look at her roses and went back to join Debbie in the kitchen.

"Of course, they're poisonous," she replied."What do you want me to grow? Geraniums?"

"Daisies," Debbie deadpanned, smirking at her friend's pained expression.

"I've had enough daisies to last me a lifetime," Morticia retorted, eliciting an amused laugh from Debbie.

"So, do your parents even know you're back in the country?" she asked, opening the cupboard to take out two teacups and the saucers.

"Why, of course, they don't," she smiled."Why would I spoil the surprise? You know how my mother just loves surprises."

Debbie smirked, leaning slightly over the kitchen counter.

"Your sister is the star of the social gossip column - mingling now among the super-rich of this city," Debbie informed her."Ever since she got engaged to that Addams fellow. Charity dinners, golf games, private clubs, soirees - you name it."

"Sounds like she's living a dream," Morticia commented flatly.

Debbie nodded, biting her lip in amusement.

"Would be a shame if someone spoiled it, huh?"

"Now, who would do such an awful thing?" Morticia asked, unzipping her dress."I need to freshen up. Do we have any food?"

"Are you mad, of course we don't, I just stocked up on your favourite tea."

"We're so domesticated," Morticia commented, amused, as she removed her earrings and dropped them on the black, marble kitchen counter. She rubbed her neck tiredly, she hated long-haul flights.

"You know, they will probably expect you to attend those… what do you call them?"

"Feasts of snobbery," she supplied, smiling gently.

"Yeah, those," Debbie nodded."Imagine yourself, cheering those upper-class gentlemen all through their seventeenth round of golf."

Morticia couldn't help but laugh.

"Stop traumatizing me-,"

"While you sit with _the ladies_ , sipping your colourful drinks and discussing the latest society gossips"

"I'm going to take a bath" Morticia announced, shaking her head with amusement. "Order some food, will you? I'm famished."

* * *

"Dead?"

"You are the last person to have seen the victim, Mr Addams," the policeman informed him."As it stands you are now the suspect in the investigation. I will need to ask you to come with us to the police station."

"Murder in the family," his father exclaimed happily, patting him proudly on the shoulder."It's about time."

Ophelia's jaw almost dropped in disbelief.

"Are you insane?" she asked. "My husband is not a murderer."

"Officially," her mother-in-law supplied.

"You can't take him to the police station, that's ridiculous," Ophelia insisted, purposely ignoring Eudora's comment. The woman was insane.

"I'm afraid we have to," the policeman replied."I understand this is a difficult situation, ma'am -"

"Oh for God's sake, can't it wait until tomorrow?" she complained, groaning in exasperation before turning her angry gaze at the officer."We have a very important dinner to attend tonight."

The officer blinked, taken aback.

"I'm afraid the dinner will have to be postponed, Mrs Addams," he told her.

"This is very inconvenient," she insisted.

"Murders usually are, ma'am."

"This is some ridiculous misunderstanding-,"

"Have fun, my darling," Eudora smiled, kissing her son's cheek. "Call us if you need us to bail you out. You must tell us all the gory details when you come back. I will cook your favourite dinner."

"We'll go about organizing the funeral," Harald supplied."We haven't had a proper party since your wedding, have we, my dear?"

Ophelia blinked, quite unable to believe this was really happening to her. Were they all completely insane?

This was absurd.

"Don't worry," Gomez appeased. "I'll be back before lunchtime tomorrow."

"That's not for you to decide, Mr Addams," the officer muttered.

"I'll be back before breakfast, now don't fret," Gomez smiled at her. "It's just murder, after all."

Ophelia exhaled angrily as she watched the officer take her husband – take? Ugh, he seemed to go willingly as if it was a joke. She had never seen him so amused.

Gomez inhaled deeply into the evening air as they stepped outside the mansion and approached the police car.

"So, gentlemen, anything changed since you last had me?"

The officer on his left shrugged.

"They painted the walls," he supplied lightly, opening the door for Gomez.

"Why?" he asked, ducking his head as he got inside the car." I liked the grey colour, it was so depressing,"

"Me too, actually," the officer replied, closing the door before taking the seat at the front.

"So, how is the old ball and chain, Mr Addams?"

"As expected," Gomez replied, wincing slightly.

"Judging that he's happier to spend the night with us at the police station than at the dinner with his wife?" the other officer snickered.

"I always enjoy your company, gentlemen, we have had some jolly good times together, haven't we?" Gomez supplied. "Cigar?"

"Nah, trying to quit."

"Why?"

"My missus says it causes cancer -"

"That's the whole point," Gomez insisted. "How is that little pup of yours? Must be at least five now?"

"Seven," the officer grinned proudly."He's really into baseball now."

He smiled and reached into his breast pocket, removing his wallet.

"That's him in the middle," he pointed out proudly, handing Gomez the photo.

"Fine little, boy," Gomez praised. "Outrageous hobby, though. You should buy him some dynamite caps."

* * *

Morticia smiled gently as she leaned against the door frame, lifting her palm to shield her eyes from the September sun and watched the scene before her.

She could never claim she had a particularly close relationship with her mother, they clashed often and quite ardently but Morticia always loved watching her mother's gardening.

Perhaps, it was because it was among the very few things they had in common - if not the only one. They both had an avid interest in horticulture, even if perhaps their choice of plants differed significantly. Ophelia, on the other hand, never had any interest in flowers other than those ridiculous daisies she constantly wore on her head, and so gardening was usually the only time Morticia got her mother to herself. She used to cherish that.

They both seemed to find a certain peace in gardening work, although it has been years since they both did any gardening together. In fact, it had been years since they did anything together at all.

Her mother lifted her head from the rose bush she was trimming and frowned as if to make sure she wasn't hallucinating and Morticia couldn't help but smile, making her way slowly towards her mother.

"Well, well," her mother greeted flatly, slowly removing her gardening gloves."Look who finally graced our humble layers."

"I really missed this motherly affection," Morticia retorted wryly, kissing her mother on both cheeks."How are you, Mother? You look well."

"I have been well, very well indeed," the older woman agreed." You, however, look almost malnourished. Have you been eating at all?" She asked, pointing to Morticia's slim frame and then, without waiting for the reply, she continued, "So, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

"What makes you think it's going to be a pleasure?"

"Oh, don't start," her mother interjected sharply. "I must say you've really outdone yourself this time. Care to explain why you didn't attend your sister's wedding?"

Morticia shrugged gently at the question.

"I didn't want to," she replied calmly.

"How very typical of you," her mother huffed derisively.

"I'm sure Ophelia didn't miss me," she pointed out, smiling gently. "All that much."

"That's not the point and you know it."

"Well," Morticia sighed. " This is going very well."

Her mother shot her an annoyed look.

"What did you expect, flowers and a red carpet?" she asked, putting her gardening gloves back on her hands.

Apparently, Morticia's visit was not enough of a reason to interrupt her gardening work.

On the other hand, judging how well this reunion was going, it was probably for the best.

"I wouldn't be opposed to it."

"This is the exact attitude that - "

"Well, isn't this a sight for the sore eyes," the soft voice interrupted then and Morticia's face instantly brightened, her lips curling into a welcoming smile as she turned towards the voice.

"Granny," she greeted, extending her arms towards the older woman.

She couldn't help but smile at the sight of her Grandmother, dressed in a two-piece bright red suit. Apparently still ignoring Morticia's mother's suggestion to choose some more toned-down, more suitable for a woman her age - in her mother's opinion. She still wore her hair in short, carefully curled waved- a look more suitable for a young woman, as her mother pointed out on many occasions.

"Oh, I could not believe it when they told me you were here," Patricia Frump beamed happily, hugging her granddaughter closely."Oh, it's been far too long."

"I know," Morticia whispered, wrapping her fingers around her grandmother's bony hands."I missed you dearly, Granny."

"You look beautiful," her Grandmother complemented." And I love the dress. Come," she urged, completely ignoring the annoyed look her daughter-in-law was gracing them with from above the rose bushes." I shall ring for tea and you will tell me everything you've been up to."

Morticia couldn't help but smirk.

" _Everything?_ "

"Oh, every scandalous little detail, please."

* * *

Ophelia sighed impatiently as she killed the engine and exited the car. She was beyond irritated with the whole thing. She wanted to get away from the blasted Addams Manor at least for a few hours.

Her in-laws almost totally ignored her, apparently too busy organising the funeral to pay any mind to her distress.

Worse yet, her husband wasn't taking the whole thing seriously either. Indeed, he behaved like it was some kind of amusing game. If this whole murder thing hit the press, she will die of embarrassment.

Who the hell even cared who killed Balthazar, anyway. He was dead and that's that. No point to ruin everyone's plans because of it. She didn't have time for murders investigations and she certainly didn't need police snooping around her house.

"Hello, Mama," Ophelia greeted, a bit surprised for her mother to meet her in the hall, she sighed heavily." Ugh, you will not believe what happened."

"Hello, darling," her mother replied, accepting the quick kiss on the cheek."Nothing bad, I hope."

"Well, actually something horrible," she replied."You remember cousin Balthazar?"

Her mother frowned.

"Vaguely."

"Yes, well, apparently he was murdered last night."

"Murdered?" he mother exclaimed, putting her hand over her heart." Oh, what a tragedy - "

"They said Gomez is a suspect," Ophelia interrupter her."Stupid officers took him for the interrogation yesterday."

"Oh, my goodness -"

"They've released him this morning - "

"Oh, thank God," her mother exhaled in relief."Imagine the scandal."

"I know, I had to cancel our dinner date for nothing," she complained." Those people are such a nuisance. Anyway, there will be a funeral tomorrow at the Manor. I hope you have a black dress."

"Of course, of course," her mother nodded."We will be there. What a tragedy."

"I know, it's so annoying," she sighed, moving towards the parlour."I need a drink."

"Ophelia, wait."

Ophelia frowned at the apprehensive tone and turned to her mother with a bemused expression on her face.

"Your sister's here."

Ophelia opened her mouth in disbelief.

"What?"

"Morticia is here," her mother repeated."She came back a few days ago - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake, just what I needed on top of everything," she rolled her eyes and tilted her head in exasperation."Perfect timing on her part as usual."

"Now, now, don't let her provoke you, you know how she is," he mother warned, smoothing Ophelia's blond hair affectionately." Don't argue with her. You're Mrs Addams now, you need to act accordingly. Be a better person."

Ophelia nodded but exhaled heavily, biting her lip.

"This week is just getting more disastrous by the minute."

* * *

"Tishy," Ophelia greeted warmly the moment she entered the parlour." What a surprise. You still dress for the funerals I see. Hello, Granny. Papa."

Morticia smiled and got up from the sofa, where she was apparently talking to their Grandmother, who nodded to her in greeting.

Her father threw her a short, happy _hello darling_ , cigar dangling from his lips, busy struggling to open some long, wrapped tube.

"Always be prepared," Morticia replied, kissing her sister's pale cheek."Congratulations. On your wedding."

"Yes, thank you, what a pity you couldn't attend," she supplied brazenly.

"I'm sure it was just wonderful," Morticia retorted."Married life is obviously agreeing with you, you look very happy."

Ophelia blinked, momentarily taken aback by her soft tone.

"I am," she said, smoothing her blond hair behind her ears."So, ehm, are you back for good?"

"Extremely unlikely," she replied.

They both turned towards their father, who exclaimed in delight, apparently finally managing to open the tube.

Morticia smiled as she watched her father unroll the canvas.

"It's called _The Cruciforms_ ," she said."A friend of mine painted it. He has the whole series."

"Magnificent," her father praised, gently stretching the oil painting on the table."I love it, poppet, thank you."

"It's disgusting," Ophelia commented barely glancing at the painting of the crucified skeleton.

"His work is delightfully macabre," Morticia praised."He paints death beautifully."

"He does, indeed," her father nodded."I would be very interested to see more of his work. Does he have a sponsor?"

"Oh please," Ophelia interjected, flopping heavily on the velvet sofa next to her mother."I have just about enough talk about death. You should show this atrocity to my mother-in-law, she likes this weird stuff."

"It's called Surrealism," Morticia pointed out, returning to the seat next to her Grandmother, shooting a grateful look when the butler handed her a glass of red wine.

Thank God for good, old Mr Evans and his impeccable timing.

"Whatever," Ophelia sighed."It's even worse than that weird Mexican woman you like whatever her name - Franny something."

"Frida Kahlo," Morticia corrected, taking a hearty sip of the red beverage.

"It doesn't even sound like a real name," Ophelia continued.

"She's Mexican."

"What's wrong with American names?"

Morticia closed her eyes briefly and tried not to sigh. This was shaping up to be a spectacularly long evening, and they didn't even have dinner yet.

"Your husband has a hardly traditional English name, dear," her grandmother pointed out.

Ophelia looked at her sceptically.

"Addams?"

" _Gomez."_

"Oh yes, well, but that's different," Ophelia insisted, waving her hand carelessly."He's still American. It's his mother who's from South America."

"Really? Where from?" Morticia asked.

"I just said it," Ophelia insisted."South America."

Morticia bit her cheeks, immediately taking another sip of her wine, summoning all her strength not to offer a suitable reply.

Her grandmother, however, possessed no such strength.

"Ah, yes, just one huge behemoth of a country, South America, isn't it?" she commented in a deadpan manner, ignoring a flash on annoyance coming from her daughter-in-law.

"Exactly," Ophelia agreed, popping a green olive into her mouth."They should divide it into states as we did."

"Or countries," Patricia supplied smoothly.

Morticia cleared her throat gently, resting her below on the arm of the sofa and propped her chin on her hand, covering her lips with her fingers and fluttered her eyelashes when her mother shot her a warning look.

"Well, it's almost the same, Granny," Ophelia replied, as if she was instructing a five - year - old." Anyway, I hope you don't have any plans tomorrow because we have a family function -"

"I have plans tomorrow," Morticia interjected promptly.

There is no way in hell she could force herself to attend family dinners with her sister two days in a row. She was already exhausted.

"Well, then cancel them," Ophelia insisted, instantly irritated.

"It's a funeral," her mother supplied before Morticia had a chance to reply

Morticia turned her head towards her, her lips curling into a soft smile.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" she asked."I have just the perfect dress."

"I hope you will leave that presumptuous behaviour at home, please," her mother reprimanded sternly."These are Ophelia's in-laws."

"How could I possibly do that?" Morticia asked lightly before adding in a deadpan manner, "It's all but a defence mechanism I use unconsciously to cope with my insecurities and my constant need for attention."

"Well, I suppose, you held back long enough," her father muttered quietly, still busy with the painting.

"Oh, how I missed that dry wit," her Grandmother sighed happily into her brandy.

"Didn't we all," Ophelia retorted sarcastically.

"Who died?" her father asked.

"Oh, Cousin Balthazar," Ophelia replied off-handedly."He's Gomez's second cousin I think, I'm not sure, that family is so big I can hardly remember them all."

"Balthazar?" her father repeated, surprised."But he's so young, what on earth happened?"

"Murdered, apparently. And you," she turned towards Morticia."Promise me you will be super nice to him."

Morticia frowned and tilted her head slightly to the side.

"To... Balthazar?"

"Gomez," Ophelia sighed in annoyance."You know, my _husband_."

"Oh, him. Well, don't fret," Morticia replied carelessly and smiled softly at her sister. "I love funerals, I shall be on my best behaviour… I promise."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Gomez Addams smiled to himself, fixing his burgundy, silk cravat around his neck as he readied himself for dinner. He hadn't felt this positively elevated in God knows how long. Nothing like a good murder to lift one's spirit. It felt good. _He_ felt good.

His father hadn't been so proud of him since the time he had been acquitted of that triple homicide. It was a welcome change from the constant scrutiny his father was usually regarding him with, especially these past few months.

The patriarch of the Addams family did not exactly believe his youngest son's commitment to his holy matrimony, not that Gomez blamed him but, still, it did not change the fact that being constantly regarded as an unruly schoolboy was grating on his nerves. And so, it felt good to have a break from that.

Although, what did it say about him that at the age of almost thirty he still craved his father's approval so badly? Pathetic. That's what it was.

It was so rare to hear praise from him, though. His father was of the opinion that excessive praise would spoil his children, so he rarely indulged in that. Gomez, especially, always seemed to come short in deserving any sort of praise. Obviously, no one ever explained to his father that raising children was not the same as being in the army and children were not his toy soldiers. Or perhaps, Colonel just thought he knew better. As always.

He had always been more of a Colonel than a father to them, anyway. They even called him that, he and Fester - Colonel and it was always yes, sir and no, sir and thank you, sir. His father didn't seem to mind that, he found it amusing or maybe even liked that. Maybe he didn't care about being a father to them, or maybe being a Colonel was the only thing he knew. Harald Addams - the colonel in the US Army, never Harald Addams - the father.

He shook his head, willing himself to get rid of the unwelcome musings, he didn't want to spoil his good mood.

He licked his lips and took a glance at his wife's vanity table and had to almost physically stop himself from rolling his eyes. There was a brand new bottle of perfume perched on the table, with a spray pump shaped like a daisy. Good grief, everything in this bedroom already smelled like daisies, and she certainly did not need daisy perfumes on top of everything.

He briefly wondered where she even shopped for things like this but her obsession with the flower was almost frightening. He didn't even want to know how many tonnes of daisies had to die so Ophelia could wear them woven into her hair.

"Ophelia called to let us know she will have dinner at her parents," his mother informed him the moment he stepped into the dining room.

He nodded mutely, pulling his chair away from the table, and waited for Lurch to serve them dinner.

"Her sister's at home," his father supplied enigmatically, pouring the generous serving of gravy over his plate.

Gomez raised his eyebrows and his lips curled into a small smile.

That was certainly interesting.

"Ah, the mysterious sister," he teased."She finally decided to turn up?"

"She lives in Europe, doesn't she?" his mother asked between mouthfuls of roasted yak.

"I'm not sure," he shrugged." Ophelia rarely talks about her and I don't ask."

"Well, if you ask me, I think it was extremely rude of her not to attend the wedding," Colonel interjected. "Ophelia must have been very hurt."

"She didn't look it," Eudora commented lightly, in the midst of cutting her french beans.

"From the way Ophelia talks about her, she sounds like a spoiled princess," Harald continued. "A young woman travelling through Europe on her own - in my days it was unthinkable. Why, if she were my daughter, I would never allow it."

Gomez couldn't help but snort in disdain. If his father had his way, he would probably take them all back into the nineteenth century.

"She is twenty-two, if I remember correctly, hardly a child," Gomez supplied.

"Unmarried."

"Harald, dear, don't be so archaic," his mother laughed teasingly. "Times change, accept it. And James is a very doting father."

"Too much indulgence is never good, my dear," her husband insisted. "We have learned that the hard way, haven't we?"

Gomez froze momentarily at his father's words and bit into the inside of his cheeks. Well, this father-son bonding certainly didn't last long.

He put his utensils aside and reached for his napkin, wiping his lips.

"Thank you for the delicious dinner, Mama," he smiled tensely and pushed his chair away from the table.

"Gomez - "

"Good night," he kissed her cheek and left the dining room without another word, without sparing his father another look.

Eudora Addams sighed angrily and bit into her lower lip before turning towards her husband.

"That was completely unnecessary," she told him sharply.

Her husband tensed and waved his hand carelessly as if the matter wasn't worth discussing and went back to his meal.

"You have to stop doing that, Harald," she insisted. "Stop punishing him. It won't make anything better."

"Won't hurt to keep him on his toes," he retorted ."You know how he is," he continued firmly."If you don't keep him on a tight leash, he's like a tornado."

"He's trying," Eudora insisted."You can see he's trying."

"Trying is not good enough," he told her, taking a hearty swing of his wine."He doesn't get a merit badge for trying, my dear."

"Why do you have to be so hard on him?"

Her husband laughed sardonically, leaning against his chair before finally looking at her.

"Do you really need to ask?"

Eudora frowned, and swallowed heavily.

"He knows he's in the wrong," she insisted. "It's not easy for him either."

Her husband snorted contemptuously and shook his head.

"That doesn't fix anything," he whispered, his voice suddenly hoarse."It doesn't bring my son back. It's his fault that my boy is gone, and he has to face the consequences."

"How long, Harald?" she asked him."There's no excuse for Gomez's behaviour, but ten years is quite a long time to keep a grudge."

"Fester has every right to not want to come home -"

"Oh, for God's sake, it's been ten years," Eudora retorted, biting on her lower lip angrily. " _Ten_ _bloody_ years, he was eighteen -"

"When I was eighteen, I was in the army," her husband interjected sternly.

"Oh, don't start with this -"

"I was fighting for my country, I wasn't stealing my brother's fiancees."

"He made a mistake," she defended." A horrible mistake, and he's been paying for it ever since. I think it's damn time we all moved on from that."

"He's not the only one paying for that mistake, Eudora," he pointed out, his voice unbearably hollow."We all are."

* * *

One of the favourite things about being Mrs Addams was that she almost never had to give her name at the restaurants anymore. Ever since the announcement of their engagement, Ophelia became almost instantly recognizable at every upper-tier establishment in the city. She never had any problems anymore with making even a last-minute reservation. Perks of being disgustingly rich, no doubt.

And she absolutely loved being disgustingly rich.

She followed the Maître d' to the table where her two friends were already waiting. She had known Holly and Vanessa all her life, they were daughters of her father's friends and they often visited them at the manor. They even shared the same tutor, Mr Gunther, a skinny, bespectacled man who seemed absolutely terrified of the idea of teaching three nine-year-old girls. He got along quite well with Morticia, though - two the most boring people in the world, in Ophelia's opinion.

She nodded at the two blond women at the table and sat down, smacking her small, black shoulder bag on top of the table with an exasperated sigh.

"Good Lord, Ophelia, who stepped on your toes, honey?" Vanessa exclaimed, sharing a knowing look with Holly.

"Ugh, if you only fucking knew," Ophelia muttered, resisting the urge to flop heavily on the chair but that would certainly be ungainly.

She was absolutely exhausted after the dinner at her parents, she needed to re-charge. She was exhausted at the very thought that she will have to introduce her sister to her husband and the rest of his family. She couldn't have chosen a worse time to come back even if she tried.

"What happened?" Holly asked, pushing the glass with martini towards Ophelia.

"You're a lifesaver," Ophelia sighed gratefully and downed the drink in almost one gulp.

"Shit, are you okay?" Holly laughed, pushing her long blond hair over her shoulder.

Ophelia closed her eyes briefly and shook her head.

"My sister is back in the country," she finally revealed.

"My, my," Vanessa smirked, lightning her thin cigarette." The princess of doom and gloom has returned to the kingdom," she commented. "How long has it been? Over a year?"

"More or less."

Ophelia rubbed her face tiredly.

"She looks fucking malnourished," she mocked. "Skin and bones."

"She was always skinny," Vanessa remarked, taking a long drag of her cigarette."Although, I was always jealous of that tiny waist."

"Right? Me too." Holly nodded." Bitch."

"Bitch is the word," Ophelia nodded in agreement."Ugh, just what I needed on top of everything," she continued, waving at the waiter."You won't believe the week I had."

"Oh, I think we will," Holly smiled knowingly. "Is it true Gomez is a suspect in the investigation?"

Ophelia tensed and blinked in disbelief.

"How the fuck did you even -"

"News travel fast," Vanessa smirked before leaning further against the table."So? Spill."

Ophelia bit her lips into a thin line and waited until the waiter approached them with their drinks before letting out an annoyed sigh.

"They released him but he's still a suspect," she told them, wrapping her fingers gently around the stem of the martini glass.

"Shit, so what happens now?" Holly asked.

Ophelia shot her an exasperated look.

"How the hell should I know? I never murdered anyone."

"Do you think he really did it?"

"Of course not, what's wrong with you?"

"Well… there are rumours about this family," Vanessa pointed out, her lips stretching into an amused smile.

"Oh, don't be silly," Ophelia rolled her eyes."I have known him for almost two years and I think I would have noticed if I was sleeping with a murderer."

"I've heard his grandmother died in an asylum," Holly supplied.

"I thought it was his aunt?" Vanessa frowned, taking out another cigarette from her gold cigarette case.

"Whatever, one of the two."

"I might end up in an asylum myself," Ophelia moaned. "I swear if Morticia does something even remotely embarrassing at that funeral I will snap her little neck in half."

"So why did she come back?"

"Who knows," she shrugged. "She does whatever she wants, I don't know why father puts up with her behaviour at all."

"So anyway," Holly remarked casually. "Did you hear who's pregnant again?"

Ophelia looked up at her and frowned.

"Surely not - "

Holly grinned and nodded her head at her.

"Jesus, she's popping those babies like a rabbit," Ophelia remarked sardonically, rolling her eyes for a good measure.

"And rightly so," Vanessa supplied, popping another olive into her mouth.

"Oh, please," Ophelia groaned.

"Darling, nothing will cement your position as Mrs Addams like a child."

"God, you're starting to sound like my mother," Ophelia snorted. "Give me a break, we're barely married."

"I'm serious," Vanessa insisted. "Anyone can be a wife, wives can get replaced every day but a mother to his children - you're set up for life."

"She's right, you know," Holly nodded.

* * *

Why was he doing this? Why did he seem to need to constantly punish him? It had been ten years. Ten agonising years. Did he think he forgot? Did he really think there was even one day when he wasn't gnawed at by the guilt so ferocious he barely knew how to deal with it?

Deal with it. He didn't deal with it. He didn't deal with anything. He was running away. What else was there to do? There will never be absolution for what he's done. It would never be enough, no matter how much he tried - and he _did_ try.

His mother, half-torn with grief over Fester and her love for him - a despicable excuse for a son, a traitor. Her forgiveness was almost worse than his father's incessant castigation.

It was hopeless.

And yet, everything he had done these past years seemed like a constant beseechment for forgiveness, to prove that he could be better than his misdeeds.

He could demand neither love nor forgiveness and he would receive none.

It seemed to be a prevailing trait of his character, chasing after devil knows what. Always restless, instead of being content with what he had.

He was an ungrateful bastard.

Ophelia gave him more than he gave her. She loved him, perhaps not in the way he longed for but it was more than he deserved anyway.

He took a draw on his cigar before releasing the grey cloud of fragrant smoke and leaned heavily against the headboard, closing his eyes tiredly and then resisted an almost overwhelming desire to sigh when he heard the bedroom door open.

"Gomez, darling, I asked you not to smoke inside the bedroom."

Oh, right, he forgot about that.

"Sorry," he muttered flatly and took one more languid puff before putting his cigar away in the ashtray.

He watched her perch her small purse on the vanity desk and shed her blazer, hanging it on the back of the chair before removing her pumps and throwing them carelessly under the chair.

"I'm going shower, that was a hell of a day," she announced, and without waiting for his reply, she made her way towards the adjacent bathroom before he could so much as nod.

He waited until he heard the water running and picked his cigar back from the ashtray, taking a small puff; it was still lit, and it was a shame to waste it.

How would it feel to be loved? Truly loved, though, not as an idea, not as a persona he constructed on a daily basis but as himself, as everything he was? The jealous, pathetic thing he often was. The traitor to his brother.

Ophelia could never understand that. She would never understand the demons within him or the constant guilt he carried with him. How could she? He barely understood it himself.

"She just came home, all of a sudden, can you believe it?" She told him the moment she emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a grey towel, barely sparing him a glance.

"Your sister?" he asked, putting the cigar back in the ashtray.

"Who else?" She asked edgily as she opened the drawer in a mahogany chest drawer and removed a fresh nightgown. "She's such a piece of work. I just can't believe the audacity of that woman."

"Don't worry about her," he tried to appease, he really didn't want to deal with frantic Ophelia on top of everything else this evening.

She huffed impatiently, as if he wasn't getting her point, and removed her towel, promptly slipping the nightgown on.

"I'm not worried," she said, finally, leaving her damp towel at the foot of the bed and reached for her hairbrush.

It really irked him when she did that. His lower half didn't seem to mind though, as he felt a gentle stirring in his loins at the sight of her naked body.

Well, truth be told, love or not love, he still could use some distraction. He certainly didn't need love to have decent sex.

"I'm annoyed by her impertinent behaviour, that's all," Ophelia continued as she finally slipped into the bed with him. Then all of a sudden all the annoyance seemed to evaporate as she turned towards him and smiled."Anyway, I don't want to talk about my sister."

She straddled his hips and leaned to kiss him before he had a chance to blink. Not that he minded, sex was always preferable to marital conversations, in his opinion. Talking was overrated and what he longed to tell her, she wouldn't understand.

She didn't have to understand, he thought as he removed her nightgown and started placing small kisses against her collar bone. She didn't have to know what an inexcusable bastard she married.

He heard her moan and she arched against him, pressing her fingers into his arms.

He didn't have to love her. This was enough. It was good. It was enough.

She was his wife and she was beautiful and she was happy and that was what mattered.

It was enough.

He opened the drawer and reached for the little square packet.

"Gomez," she stopped him when he was about to tear it with his teeth.

He let out a strangled groan, pressing his hips against hers insistently.

"I think we should have a baby," she told him.

"We will, at some point," he grunted.

"How about now?" She purred suggestively, kissing him passionately as she took the rubber sheath from his hand and threw it on the floor.

"I thought we agreed we wanted to wait -," he replied, his voice strained. Was this really the best time for such discussions, for God's sake.

"I changed my mind," she smiled, sliding her hand in between them and smirked when he moaned under her touch. "I decided we should have a baby."

"Well, I don't mind trying for one," he replied, eager to end this conversation, and was infinitely glad when she smiled at him as she finally lowered herself onto him.

She pressed her lips to the side of his neck before whispering into his ear.

"That's the spirit."

This relationship might not be what he wanted, might never be what he needed but what it was would have to be enough.

He swallowed heavily and claimed her lips in a firm kiss.

He would _make it_ _enough._

* * *

Seated in the backseat of her father's town car, Morticia couldn't help but bite her lips in gentle amusement. Despite the fact that her mother never displayed a particularly avid interest in Morticia's upbringing, she did, nevertheless, manage to occasionally surprise Morticia by how well she seemed to know her.

It was indeed amusing, that her mother had the foresight to send the car for her at exactly eight o'clock, as if she was already suspecting that Morticia was going to be deliberately late for this family funeral. As a matter of fact, Morticia was not planning to be late - well, not too late at least, she was planning to be almost on time and slightly late so she did not have to endure her mother's inevitable sermon of 'Please remember that this is your sister's family. I expect you to be absolutely charming, Morticia, these are Ophelia's in-law's, do not make any sarcastic comments, do not discuss politics and, for God's sake, Morticia, do not make any morbid jokes.'

Alas, with the funeral starting at midnight, there was enough time for her mother to deliver her sermon in four different versions.

At least it was a funeral. Morticia's first funeral at that. Well, technically not the first but since she did not remember her grandfather, let alone his funeral, the funeral of this Balthazar fellow, could be considered her first and she was really looking forward to it.

The door to her parent's mansion opened before she had a chance to press the bell. Surprisingly, it was her mother who answered, already dressed in a demure, calf-length black dress.

"Well, for once you're dressed for an occasion," she greeted her. "I'm glad you're on time as well."

Morticia couldn't help but smile at the subtle dig.

"I'm glad you approve," Morticia replied smoothly.

"Drink?" Her mother asked as they moved along the corridor towards the first parlour.

"Please."

Morticia grimaced unwittingly at the sight of a vase full of freshly cut roses in desperate need for decapitation placed on the coffee table. There was a large, white rectangular box placed on one of the velvet powder-pink sofas.

Her mother went over to the small table where the selection of liquors was already displayed and poured her a modest glass of Beaujolais before, to Morticia's surprise, peppering it with a small amount of cyanide powder.

"Cyanide," Morticia said softly, accepting the drink. "Buttering me up prior to the grand festivities?"

Her mother only looked at her pointedly, before turning to pour herself a rather hearty glass of dry gin.

"Please, remember these are Ophelia's in-laws," she said, placing a cap over the crystal decanter.

Morticia couldn't help but smile. Much sooner than she anticipated, here it was.

"I don't think I could ever forget that," she replied, taking a small sip of her wine.

"Do not make sarcastic comments or discuss politics," her mother continued.

This was becoming hilarious.

"And remember, it's a funeral - "

"How could I forget _that_?"

"Whatever you do, for God's sake, - "

"Do not make any morbid jokes, Morticia," Morticia finished and smiled when her mother glared at her.

"Very funny," she muttered, smoothing her blond hair, twisted into a low, simple chignon to the back. "You should have put your hair up."

"I never put my hair up," Morticia pointed out.

"It's more respectful that way," her mother insisted, casting her gaze over Morticia's waist-long tresses. "Your hair is too long, nobody wears such long hair."

"I don't think anyone will bother looking at my hair, Mother," she retorted, trying not to get irritated because it was barely half-past nine and her wine glass did not have enough wine in it to get her even remotely drunk, nor enough cyanide to kill her.

"Come," her mother sighed, as if she was exhausted. " I have something for you."

Morticia blinked, momentarily taken aback.

"I was planning to give it to you on your birthday, but since you didn't bother to show up for that either you might as well get it now,"

Morticia took the large white box, somewhat suspiciously. It was white and sparkly and she momentarily dreaded what might be inside it.

"Well," her mother urged, motioning with her palm towards the box. "Open it,"

Morticia hesitated but then put her glass away on the table and reached for the box, lifting the top cover and putting it aside before gently putting the white tissue paper aside.

She frowned and looked at her mother curiously.

"Go on, it's not going to bite," her mother assured, her tone surprisingly pleased.

Morticia's lips curled into a small smile before she turned back towards the box and reached inside, retrieving the heavy black woollen cloak.

"It's so beautiful," she said, brushing her hand against the silk inside the cloak.

It was absolutely stunning she thought, and turned towards her mother, gracing her with a grateful smile.

"Thank you, it's absolutely gorgeous."

Her mother nodded, running her hand absently against the dark fabric.

"It once belonged to someone very dear to me," she said, after a while.

"Really, who?" she asked but her mother only shrugged, before clearing her throat gently.

"A childhood friend," she answered vaguely. "Why don't you put it on."

Morticia smiled and wrapped the heavy cloak over her shoulders and allowed her mother to fasten the clip.

"It's stunning, thank you."

Her mother nodded again and offered her a small smile.

"Well, it gets cold at night," she said, gently smoothing the material on Morticia's arms.

Her father entered the parlour and stopped dead in his tracks but then promptly cleared her throat and approached them slowly.

"We should get going," he urged. "We don't want to be late."

"The funeral starts at midnight, we have plenty of time," Morticia pointed out.

"It's a long drive from here," her father insisted, cutting the bud off his cigar."And your sister will have a heart attack if we're late."

Well, nobody could argue with that.

"Where do they live?" Morticia asked lightly, twisting the cloak gently in between her fingers.

She could almost feel her mother's annoyed huff.

"Good God, Morticia, do you know anything about anyone in this city?"

"I know the name of Ophelia's husband," she deadpanned.

"Better than nothing," her father supplied, giving her a subtle wink."They live on the Cemetery Lane."

Morticia blinked, suddenly entirely too amused.

"The old manor up the hill?" she clarified, biting her lips when her father nodded at her.

"That's the one," her Grandmother supplied, entering the parlour, dressed in a very long and very tight black dress, carrying a wide reamed funeral hat in her hands.

"Hello, Granny," Morticia smiled, kissing her Grandmother on both cheeks." I love your dress, it's so tight."

"Vintage," Patricia Frump nodded and smiled before leaning towards her in a conspiratorial manner."The last time I wore it, a very handsome lieutenant took it off me… with his teeth."

"Mother, for the love of God - " her father groaned, tilting his head in exasperation.

"Serves you well for eavesdropping."

"I wasn't eavesdropping, you're standing next to me," her father pointed out.

"Well, then move away, dear."

Her father apparently did not have to be told twice because both of her parents left the parlour eagerly.

She did not understand why her mother was worried about her behaviour, where if anyone was going to scandalize the Addamses at that funeral it probably was her grandmother, not Morticia.

Although, her mother most likely knew that it was a battle she was never going to win so she decided to concentrate all her effort on Morticia.

"With his teeth?" Morticia whispered.

"And hands tied behind his back - with his own handcuffs."

"Granny, you must teach me your ways."

Her Grandmother laughed, linking her arm with hers and then looked at her softly.

"That's a really lovely cloak," she complimented."I didn't think they still made things like this"

"Mother gave it to me," Morticia smiled."She said it belonged to her childhood friend. It's exquisite, don't you think?"

Patricia Frump stopped and turned slowly towards her granddaughter and looked at her intently before reaching for the hood of the cloak and gently pulled in over Morticia's hair.

"Are you alright, Granny?" Morticia asked after a while, taking up a concerned tone.

Her grandmother nodded wordlessly, and smiled somewhat wistfully, gently smoothing Morticia's long hair.

"It's exquisite," she said quietly and cleared her throat. "Come on, let's go before your mother starts her histrionic theatricals."

* * *

The Manor was buzzing with excitement and filled with an array of guests. He must admit Mama outdone herself with the funeral party, she always did, though. Her mother loved funerals, but then again, who didn't?

It was about to start any minute now and yet the guests still kept arriving. There were so many people around that he had lost the sight of his wife over forty minutes ago. Although, Ophelia wasn't a fan of the open caskets so she probably wasn't crazy about the idea of sitting in the front row.

His in-laws supposedly had arrived already but he hadn't even seen a glimpse of them yet either.

"So, I hear your sister-in-law is making an appearance tonight?" Vlad whispered next to him.

"Apparently," Gomez shrugged.

Truth be told, he was already exhausted with the mere idea of Ophelia's sister because Ophelia had spent the whole morning complaining about her and then most of the afternoon and he couldn't, for the life of him, figure out what the conundrum was. It's not like her sister was moving in with them, after all.

"I can't believe there's two of them," Vlad mused."I'm curious and yet terrified at the same time. Where's your wife, anyway?"

Gomez shrugged again, scanning the crowd of people for the blond hair and finally noticed her.

"Talking to Aunt Lucrecia," he said, pointing to the group of women near the conservatory.

Vlad grunted and narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Why is Ophelia looking at her like she suddenly grew a third head?" he asked.

Gomez turned toward Vlad, regarding him incredulously.

"Are you asking me to explain Ophelia to you?" he asked sardonically and his cousin grinned at him obnoxiously.

"Good point," Vlad nodded."Forget I asked. So, dear Balthazar… stabbed seven times and a slit throat," he mused slowly, watching Gomez intently."This has your fingerprints all over it."

Gomez tilted his head and let out a loud laugh before reaching to his breast pocket to retrieve another cigar.

"Good try."

"Did you kill him? Tell me."

"Yes."

"Really?" he grinned.

"No."

He laughed at his cousin's crestfallen expression.

"Come on tell me," Vlad urged him, punching Gomez in the shoulder for a good measure." He deserved it anyway if you ask me…just tell me if you did it."

"Maybe."

"You cad. I will just happily assume you did it because otherwise - " Vlad said but then suddenly faltered."Oh, my holy fuck. Who is _she_?"

"Who?"

"Your ten o'clock, black, hooded cloak, talking to Aunt Ilsa."

Gomez turned in the direction his cousin pointed and, in some absurdly cliche moment, his heart ceased its beating and their eyes met.

"Good God," he whispered breathlessly.

"Fuck off, chap, you're married," Vlad supplied promptly. "I'm proposing to her immediately."

"Don't be daft -"

"You're right, it's highly improper," his cousin agreed. "I'll wait until after the eulogy. Look how tall she is, imagine her legs… and look at those eyes."

He couldn't look at anything else, he felt locked in her gaze, bewitched and enslaved into those dark pools. She was enchanting, absolutely mesmerizing. He has never seen a woman quite like her in his entire life.

Pale skin that seemed to glow in the moonlight and her lips, gods, he felt himself coming apart at the seams at the very thought of tasting those blood-red lips. He wanted to look into her dark gaze for the rest of eternity. He wanted to -

"It's starting," he heard Vlad's voice but he couldn't take his eyes off her.

His heart was hammering in his chest so hard it seemed to drown everything else around him. He couldn't tear his eyes off her and longed to burn the image of her into his consciousness, he wanted to fall on his knees before her and beg her and be possessed by her, ensnared and damned by her. He was simultaneously relieved and wanted to howl in disappointment and the sheer misery when the woman lowered her gaze and turned away from him, allowing Aunt Ilsa to lead her away.

"I'm going to find out who she is," he heard his cousin whisper. "Because I'm pretty sure I just found my future Mrs Addams."

* * *

She couldn't focus on the funeral at all.

She has never seen a man quite so riveting; she couldn't take her eyes off him until it was time for the funeral to start. Even then she couldn't focus on anything but him. Everything about him was enchanting, from the way he looked to that gregarious laugh and the way he carried himself so effortlessly, like the whole world belonged to him.

She has never felt attracted to anyone in a manner so instantaneous, it felt as if she was struck by lightning. He was so ridiculously attractive it made her knees weak. It was only too regrettable she had lost track of him in the sea of other guests because, if all went well, this evening could have taken even more pleasurable turn, for both of them.

On the bright side, the Manor was absolutely stunning. Every wall was decorated with weapons of various kinds, knives, pistols, guns, axes, swords even. It was enchanting. There was a huge library as well, and she longed to inspect every leather-bound cover but she would probably lose all track of time there and her mother would be furious.

She could not believe her sister lived in a place like this. It was a far cry from Ophelia's tastes. Either she had undergone an utter personality overhaul or she must hate this place to its very core. Morticia was willing to bet for the later.

She stepped on a huge white carpet and gasped in surprise when it roared at her unhappily.

This place was a dream.

It was perhaps a bit forward of her to wander around like that but she just could not resist exploring the Manor in a little more detail. She found it magnificent.

It was magical.

She paused her musings as she entered the empty conservatory. It was vastly larger than her own modest collection and smiled knowingly, recognizing the plants immediately. She ran the tip of her fingers over the dull green leaves and shiny, black berries and felt her fingers instantly prickle. Deadly nightshade was always her favourite.

She frowned when she heard a commotion at the other side of the conservatory, she could swear it was empty when she entered. She put her drink away on the small wooden table and approached the fidgeting thing next to, what seemed to her, a moving bundle of long, blond hair.

_Stop moving or we will never get you out,_ the bundle of hair spoke. _How did you even allow her to wrap those vines around you?_

Morticia peered over the bundle of hair to notice that there was a decapitated hand struggling to free itself from the constriction of vines.

"Oh dear," Morticia winced at the sight."May I?

_By all means,_ the long-haired fellow turned towards her, utterly unsurprised by her presence, _we could use someone with a proper pair of hands._

"Don't move," Morticia said softly to the trapped hand, already prying the sharp vines from around it."Stop fidgeting, you will hurt yourself, you daft thing."

The hand shook unhappily.

"I'm not being rude, you're being unreasonable," Morticia insisted. "Now, hold still."

The hand did as she asked.

"How did you even end up in here?" she asked but before it could reply, the hairy chap next to her laughed before his amused voice reverberated through the conservatory.

_He pissed off his mistress. She has a lovely psychotic streak in her, I gotta admit. I'm Itt Addams by the way and this pathetic prisoner there is Thing._

"Morticia Frump," she introduced herself, still in the process of prying the thorny vines from the hand.

_Oooooooh, so you're Ophelia's mysterious sister._

"Mysterious sister?" She repeated, thoroughly amused. "Well, I suppose I am. There - all done. Although, you might be in need of a band-aid."

She turned and only narrowly managed not to collide with the tall gentleman before her.

Good Lord, did everyone here just appear out of nowhere?

"Easy there," the man smiled at her, placing his hands on her arms to prevent them from bumping into each other."I didn't mean to startle you."

His smile immediately faded when he rested his gaze on Thing.

"There you are, Thing," he said sternly." Lurch was looking for you, he needs some help in the kitchen," he informed him before turning towards Morticia again."I don't believe we've met," he said, extending his hand towards her. "Colonel Harold Addams. This is my house."

_This is Morticia,_ Itt introduced promptly. _She helped to untangle this little loser._

"Ah, Ophelia's little sister, of course," Harald said knowingly, smiling wildly at her and placed a quick kiss to the back of her hand. "It's lovely to finally meet you."

"Thank you, likewise," Morticia replied, trying her utmost not to wince. She hated being called Ophelia's little sister with a passion. Ophelia's little sister - as if she was not a person herself but an afterthought. "My condolences, Mr Addams."

"Why, thank you," Colonel replied jovially. "A horrible murder no less."

"So I've heard," she smiled, pleased by his cheerful response.

_Well, if nobody needs me anymore I'm going to go back to the party to get pissed drunk,_ Itt announced and without waiting for anybody's reply, promptly left the conservatory.

"Please forgive my nephew," Harald told her. "He has no manners to speak of."

"No at all," she smiled."I apologise for wandering around your home but it's...just magnificent. And the conservatory is just superb, I couldn't resist."

"Ah, that's all my wife's doing," he smiled fondly. "I'm sure she would be more than happy to give you a tour of the house."

"Oh, I'd love that."

"We also have a dungeon, if you're interested to see it."

"I certainly am."

"Then we must certainly arrange for it, Eudora loves showing the house to an eager audience."

He smiled at her charmingly and Morticia couldn't help but smile back.

"Oh, well, you can count me in that category," she assured."I would be delighted to see the rest of the estate."

She suddenly felt the hand - Thing - tap frantically against her arm.

"What do you mean you got stuck?" Harold asked bewildered.

Thing tapped again.

"Oh, that's preposterous," Harold decided, his tone suddenly condescending."That sweet girl would never do such a thing. Now, enough with this silliness, Lurch is waiting for you."

Thing slumped unhappily before turning towards Morticia and tapped softly.

"You're welcome," she smiled at him, patting him gently.

"Thing can be a handful," he informed her, his tone mildly exasperated but fond.

Morticia only smiled gently, not sure what she could say to that.

"Allow me to escort you to the ballroom, my dear," he said, offering his arm. "I shall introduce you to my dear wife and everyone else."

* * *

"You look good in black," Gomez complimented, passing his wife a glass of champagne.

Ophelia huffed gently and rolled her eyes.

"I hate black," she replied, accepting the drink."My sister always wears black."

Oh, good God, not this again, he almost groaned out loud. He almost longed to discuss the subject of daisies, the latest handbag fashion or anything really that the topic of her sister. He almost wished the blasted woman stayed in that basted Europe in the first place.

"You really don't like her, hmmm?" he asked.

"It's not that, it's…," Ophelia paused but then added in a softer tone. "She's very jealous of me and… well, she's… difficult to be with."

"It's hard not to be jealous when your sister is such an angel," he complimented and saw her face instantly brighten so he continued, deliberately, "I know all men envy me such a beautiful wife."

It was more or less the truth. Ophelia was very beautiful and bred to perfection. As his cousin mentioned, she did tick all the right boxes in the good wife department.

If he had any common sense he would be crazy about her instead of chasing after God only knew what?

"Darling, you make me blush," she smiled at him, swatting him coquettishly on his arm and then sighed. "It's just so sad that we cannot get along because of her jealousy, you know? I don't understand what she expects me to do? I am what I am."

He nodded mutely. Sometimes he got an impression he was talking to a budding teenager, not a grown woman.

"Oh, there she is," Ophelia said suddenly, placing one hand on his chest."Let me introduce you. Just please, try to be patient with her… she's really… well, you will see for yourself anyway but let me apologize in advance for any rude comment she's going to make."

He frowned, she was waving her hands so frantically he had trouble discerning where exactly was she pointing at, or rather whom.

"Your sister?"

"The woman talking to your parents," she pointed out.

Thank God, judging from the smiling faces of her in-laws, her sister, true to her word, really seemed to be on her best behaviour. It was bizarre but Morticia could be really charming when she wasn't her annoying, sulking self.

Gomez followed the direction his wife was pointing in and, for a moment, he was not able to do anything but stare. He couldn't move. He was sure, in that very moment, he even forgot how to breathe.

It was _her_.

The woman from the graveyard. His heart started beating so fast he felt instantly dizzy.

He heard Ophelia's voice, urging him to move as she slipped her hand into his.

He noticed his father say something to the woman and her back stiffened momentarily before she slowly turned towards them.

He was sure he was hallucinating. He must have been.

She could not be real.

It was impossible such perfection of feminine beauty existed in any dimension.

She must be a goddess, a siren.

"Darling, this is my little sister, Morticia," Ophelia introduced her in a saccharine sweet voice."Tish, this my wonderful husband, Gomez Addams."

"Hello," Morticia greeted, extending her hand towards him.

"Morticia," he tasted the name on his tongue and leaned forward to place a kiss on her pale hand and yet he couldn't take his eyes from the crimson of her lips. She must have noticed that because her lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Depends on one's idea of pleasure I suppose, " she replied in such a soft, low, sexy voice it instantly made his blood boil and he swallowed audibly.

He wished to listen to this voice forever, for eternity. He wished to hear her whisper into his ear all the delights of -

"My condolences about your cousin," she continued. "What a delightful tragedy, murdered… and so young."

"Morticia, really, what an insensitive thing to say," Ophelia reprimanded sternly.

"Gomez is a suspect in the murder investigation," a jovial voice behind them an announced proudly.

"Are you, really?" Morticia asked, not taking her eyes off Gomez.

"Just a silly misunderstanding," Ophelia assured, obviously annoyed."You shouldn't make fun of it, Vlad."

"Who's making fun?" the man replied, approaching them. "I'm as proud of this chap here as everyone else. Jealous even!"

Morticia looked briefly towards Vlad before her gaze returned to him. Gomez would swear Morticia's eyes shone with unbridled delight at the revelation and her gaze regarded him appreciatively.

Dear Lucifer, she was so beautiful it made his mouth dry. He was damned all the way to hell.

"Vlad, dear, this is Morticia," Eudora introduced when Ophelia didn't seem inclined to do so."Ophelia's younger sister. Morticia, this is Vladimir Addams, Harald's sister oldest son."

"Vladimir Addams," he introduced himself before placing a polite kiss to the back of Morticia's hand."Why Ophelia, you never said your sister was such a breathtaking angel."

"An angel," Ophelia repeated, vastly amused before adding with a deliberate sarcasm."I'm not sure mother would agree with that description."

"Now, I'm even more enticed," Vladimir smiled charmingly at Morticia.

"Well, it was a pleasure to finally meet you, my dear," Eudora smiled at her."You'll have to visit us again so I can properly show you the rest of the house."

Morticia smiled back.

"Thank you, I'd love that."

"Do you dance?" Vladimir asked.

"Always," Morticia replied.

"How wonderful, you must honour me with a dance then," he retorted, placing another kiss to her knuckles."I am told I'm an excellent dancer."

"Not as excellent as Gomez, though," Opelia teased."My husband has no match on the dancefloor."

"Don't listen to her," Vlad dismissed."His dancing skills are nothing but urban legends."

"As is your wit, cousin," Gomez replied, taking a hearty sip of his champagne. His mouth felt unbearably dry.

"Watch it," Vlad grinned."Two funerals in one night will be quite a treat."

"You know I wouldn't kill you tonight," Gomez retorted softly before adding in a deadpan manner."You still owe me money."

"Why, cousin, what an impolite thing to mention next to such charming ladies," Vlad exclaimed in faux outrage."Let me steal this breathtaking angel to the dancefloor to protect her tender sensibilities."

"Tender sensibilities," Ophelia repeated mockingly, looking at her sister knowingly. "Good God, I need to tell Mama about it. Perhaps you're not as much of a lost cause as she thought."

Gomez noticed Morticia's jaw tense, she looked briefly irritated before her lips curled in a purposeful smile. She turned towards him and reached for his glass, looking straight at him.

"To the fortunate dead," she said, and lifted the elaborate crystal to her lips, drowning the rest of his champagne.

Gomez swallowed heavily as she returned the empty glass to him, barely sparing her sister another glance and then grabbed Vlad's hand and pulled him towards the dancefloor.

"See?" his wife's irritated voice reached him."This is what I was talking about."

* * *

It was all such a terrible cliche she wanted to laugh out loud. Or weep.

Or both.

Her brother-in-law, oh good God, it was laughable.

She would have to tell Debbie about it, it was such an absurdity. Of all the men, he was her brother-in-law.

She'd never felt such a violent lust towards anyone before and her fingers prickled with the almost overwhelming need to touch him so much that she had to wrap her fingers around her glass to prevent herself from doing so.

And he found her attractive too, she had no doubt about it.

Well, at least she wouldn't be the only miserable person in this equation.

She was almost infinitely glad when Vlad asked her to dance. She really didn't want to spend another second in their company.

Actually, she would gladly go home.

"Shall we waltz?" Vlad asked, pulling her, quite literally, out of her pitiful musings.

"This isn't a waltz," she pointed out, smiling at the exuberant rhythms filling the vast ballroom.

He shrugged carelessly.

"Who cares, Gomez says one should waltz at every opportunity," he told her."Let's test that theory."

Gomez.

She wanted to forget about Gomez.

She smiled and shrugged gently, accepting his outstretched hand as they started to move fluidly around the dancefloor.

"You know, you look nothing like your sister," he commented and she couldn't help but laugh.

"Your observation skills are just superior," she replied, shaking her head with amusement.

He tilted his head back and laughed jovially.

"I noticed the absence of daisies immediately."

"Yes, well, I left mine at home," she deadpanned.

"I think you wouldn't be caught dead with daisies in your hair," he grinned before adding dramatically."Thank God."

She caught his gaze again, she thought he looked furious like a devil himself and for a moment she just couldn't stop staring at him, transfixed into those half-lidded eyes.

She'll be damned through eternity, she thought.

In fact, judging by the way he was staring at her - they both will.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"What's the matter with you, old chap? You've barely said a word to anyone tonight."

Gomez blinked, startled, and turned his head towards his cousin, as if just noticing he was here, and forced a smile on his face but said nothing. He really needed to stop doing this but he just could not focus on anything nowadays, his mind kept wandering off.

"Marriage does that to a man," Gerald supplied dryly, before taking a short puff of his cigar."All it took was a couple of months of marriage to Ophelia for Gomez Addams to become quiet and withdrawn. Watch him now, he'll quit drinking and start practising yoga."

"You're hilarious," Gomez replied and couldn't help but smile a little at the dig. He was actually thinking of taking up some yoga classes, it looked so ridiculous it must be fun.

He needed some fun, he needed something to distract him because he has never felt more miserable in his life. He hadn't wanted to come to the club tonight at all but it was Thursday and they always met at the club on Thursdays - gentleman tradition even his father adhered to and Gomez usually enjoyed it.

His mother always jested that the gentlemen's clubs were places where husbands ran away from their wives and, to some extent, it was true but, on the other hand, there were very few places where one could discuss anything from politics to women to current affairs to business to the latest gossips all in the space of few hours in a very unrestricted fashion, over a drink or two.

He was enjoying none of it tonight and his glass of brandy still sat completely untouched on the table in front of him.

He had never felt so hopeless.

"I'm devastated you don't appreciate my sense of humour. Anyway," Gerald grinned, leaning against the velvet, cushioned armchair and turned towards Vlad."What do I hear about things going on between you and lovely Miss Frump?"

Gomez almost groaned out loud. Oh God, he didn't want to hear this, he didn't want to hear about anything that was going on between his cousin and _her._ He didn't want to think about it. He hated the fact that there was anything going on at all, he hated the fact that it bothered him so much and he wished, above everything, that he could hate her as well.

"That," his cousin smirked above his glass of scotch."Is none of your business, my friend."

Gomez rested his gaze on Vlad curiously. It was really so out of character for his cousin not to brag about this latest encounter, he usually liked to share all the details, although Gomez was infinitely glad he has forgone this habit this time. He didn't think he could stand listening to it at all but it was a curious change nonetheless.

"Hmm," Gerald chuckled before adding suggestively."I heard she's quite a wild little thing, isn't she?"

"Watch it," Vlad raised his glass, pointing at his companion with his index finger."This is the future Mrs Addams you're talking about."

Gerald tilted his head back and laughed loudly and Gomez tried his utmost not howl at the sheer misery of it all. Even with the whole Fester debacle, there was hope, a chance of some sort. Anything to grab on to. It seemed to him that everything had suddenly become devoid of meaning. Nothing mattered, no matter what he did and how much he tried, nothing will be as he wanted it to be. He will never be the husband he promised himself to be, and how could he be?

How can be a good husband to Ophelia when _she_ occupied his every thought for the last two weeks. He lived through her and breathed her and dreamt of those dark eyes and crimson lips, enslaved to her for eternity and she was beyond his reach.

She was all he could think about. She was the first thing he thought about the moment he opened his eyes and the last thing on his mind before he fell asleep and the thing that hunted his dreams.

He could no longer kiss Ophelia without wishing, from the core of his very soul that she was someone else, he could not make love to her without yearning desperately for those dark eyes and to feel that pale, ivory skin under his hands. What a bastard he was, what an unspeakable cad.

She will never belong to him, he would never feel those raven tresses under his fingers, he would never feel those glorious crimson lips against his and she was all he wanted.

"You should join us for dinner on Saturday," Gerald proposed, pulling Gomez out of his miserable thoughts.

Join whom and where, he wondered. He realized he hadn't been listening to a word his companions were saying.

"Us?" Gomez asked, his brows creasing in confusion.

He certainly didn't remember having any dinner engagements.

Gerald turned towards him and laughed.

"You're really out of it, old man," he teased."Hasn't your lovely wife told you that we're dining at that new place in Manhattan?"

"Oh, that," he nodded.

He couldn't remember if Ophelia had mentioned anything at all but he would rather die than spend the evening in the company of his cousin, watching him courting the woman that invaded every second of his miserable existence.

It was bad enough having to sit through the Sunday dinner at his in-laws where she sat opposite him at the table and he spent the entire evening trying not to stare at her, trying to block her soft voice off his mind, he barely said a word to her all evening. He was perfectly gracious and entertaining with everyone else, though, and then she asked him something, he didn't even know what, something about his uncle being convicted of arson and he was so startled by her attention that all he managed was some short, abrupt reply that probably sounded rude and dismissive. He was sure it sounded rude because later that evening Ophelia had told him it was clear he didn't like her sister, not that she blamed him, she said, because Morticia could be really exhausting.

Oh, the irony. Morticia? Exhausting? He would gladly spend the rest of his life granting her every wish. But he couldn't.

And he couldn't look at her. He couldn't look at her without getting lost in her.

"So what do you say, Vlad?" Gerald continued sardonically."You can join us for dinner, respectable married couples so we can chaperone you two love-birds?"

"Maybe, I'll think about it," Vlad said dismissively and cleared his throat, shifting somewhat uncomfortably in his seat.

Trouble in paradise already, Gomez wondered sardonically, finally reaching for his drink. He fucking hoped so.

* * *

James Frump resisted an almost overwhelming urge to sigh heavily as he pretended to align the newly framed painting - a gift from Morticia - on the wall of his study.

How many times would they have to go over it? Again and again?

He was never the one to consider raising children purely women's business but during situations such as this one he could certainly see the appeal of it.

Was this really all that was left in life? Was this really what was left of their marriage?

Tearing each other apart, it seemed that everything these days led to an argument - their past and their present, their future and even the vague what-ifs.

Not that his wife was incorrect in her assessment, of course, it would be much easier if Morticia would follow the social expectations but he knew her too well to ever expect it. It just wasn't in her nature to bow to any rules that she regarded as unfair or simply absurd, or both.

Besides, times have changed and they had to accept that young people were more and more reluctant to adhere to the rules of the olden days. Truthfully, not that young people ever adhered to such rules but, in his times, they were certainly more discreet in not adhering to said rules. Out of sight out of mind and all that.

Times were different but, as his wife rightly pointed, so was the situation and yet he was still reluctant to cave in and admit it to her.

"What do you want me to do?" He sighed tiredly, casting one last look at the painting on the wall before returning to sit behind his desk."Lock her in her room? She doesn't even live here anymore."

"She made a spectacle of herself, James," his wife hissed, jabbing her perfectly manicured finger into the polished surface of his study desk.

"I think you're making it a bigger deal than it is," he retorted."Morticia was perfectly well-behaved."

"Dancing at the funeral!"

"Everyone was dancing, these are Addamses we're talking about, they are -"

"I _know_ how they are," his wife interjected impatiently."You need to speak to her, this is _not_ the time to involve herself in a scandal."

"What scandal? There's no scandal to speak of," he defended and watched his wife's jaw tighten in annoyance.

"Oh for God's sake, James, do you think she left the funeral with that man to hold hands with him and talk about poetry?"

"She's twenty-two," he interjected."I think it's rather too late for the birds and bees talk, my dear."

"You know very well that's not the point," she retorted, gritting her teeth in annoyance."Who's going to marry a woman who's so frivolous with her reputation?"

"You're giving that girl a hard time for no reason -"

"No reason," his wife snorted derisively."I have two words for you: debutante ball."

James Frump winced but said nothing, of course, she would bring up the blasted debutante ball. She most probably will never let it be.

"You are largely to blame for the fact that Morticia thinks she can do as she pleases," his wife continued, resuming her pacing.

"God forbid a woman has bigger ambitions than to get married," he muttered stubbornly.

His wife turned towards him abruptly and then tilted her head, letting out a short derisive laugh. She put her hands on her hips in a defiant manner and regarded him mockingly.

"Oh, and what exactly are Morticia's ambitions, pray tell?" She goaded.

"Let her live her life, there will be plenty of time for the old ball and chain."

"She's not a common wench to just marry just anyone, James," his wife hissed."I don't think you realize what it takes to find a suitable marriage these days."

"The world will not end if she won't get married."

"Oh, you've really elevated defending her to the form of art," she spat."She can't do anything wrong with you."

"She can't do anything right with _you_ ," James retorted angrily."You criticise everything she does."

"Oh, that's preposterous," his wife snorted.

"Is it?"

"You can't expect me to condone the fact that she left the funeral with that man in tow without even a drop of consideration to be discreet about it," she fumed."It was a funeral, these are Ophelia's in-laws and she couldn't have enough decency - "

"You're the only one who makes a problem out of this, my dear," he retorted firmly."Morticia was perfectly charming with everyone the whole evening, Harald and Eudora said she was lovely and you're the only one who's making a mountain out of a molehill here."

He saw her posture soften and she bit her lips gently into a thin line, a sure sign that his wife realized that her current approach will bring her no desired effect and the change, of course, was in order.

All the better, because he was damned tired of discussing this blasted topic almost every day for the last two weeks.

"Darling, it's you I'm worried about," his wife insisted and he had to bite his cheeks to prevent himself from snorting ungainly.

Well, at least this conversation was nearing its end and thank God for that, he needed a drink.

"You know how delicate this whole thing is and the papers…," she sighed tiredly and pressed her fingertips to her forehead."They are like a dog with the bone, every little thing will matter after the announcement. If Morticia wants to be involved with that Addams fellow then it needs to be stated officially, we need to tread carefully, we cannot afford - "

_Was this really all he had left_ , he thought again. He once had love and passion and whispers of forever, and now this was all he had left?

He felt trapped. Trapped in this marriage that felt to him like purgatory and perhaps it was, for him and for her, for both of them.

Perhaps, this is what they deserved. And there was no escape for them.

"Alright," he said abruptly, unwilling to prolong this whole thing any further and leaned against his chair heavily."Alright, you're right, I know. I will speak to her."

* * *

There were few things Debbie Jelinsky considered unthinkable. Marrying a guy whose bank account did not show at least six digits was, for example, unthinkable because, after all, how did one show love if not through buying her everything she desired. Money was love, after all, plain and simple.

However, even marrying some poor bloke for love was more probable than waking up, for the second day in a row, to the smell of _freshly_ baked croissants. Usually, the only thing that was in the cupboards was Morticia's favourite tea and once in a blue moon some food and coffee if Debbie felt like doing grocery shopping.

So yes, waking up to the delicious smelling pastries was highly uncommon and, in Debbie's opinion, warranted a serious concern.

Debbie fixed the sash of her robe and made her way toward the kitchen area, where her friend was already sitting, dressed in her customary black dress, her bare feet resting at the chair opposite, a cup of tea on the table and -

"Okay, what on earth are you doing?" Debbie asked in disbelief.

Morticia looked up from her knitting, raising her eyebrows in mild amusement at Debbie's tone.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" She replied without stopping her work.

"I didn't mean what are _you_ doing," Debbie retorted."I meant what _the hell_ _are you doing_?"

"Knitting," Morticia replied smoothly and smiled at Debbie's flabbergasted expression.

"Have you gone mad?"

"Not yet, regrettably."

"Knitting?" Debbie repeated coming closer to the breakfast table and picked the black yarn in between her fingers as if wary it would bite her."What are you? A pensioner?"

"Is there some unspoken rule about knitting being reserved for the pensioners?"

Debbie frowned and decided to cross her arms and glared at her friend until she caved in and told her what was going on but after almost seven minutes of glaring, in which Morticia calmly continued her knitting, Debbie sighed heavily and sat down in the chair next to Morticia.

"You've been so quiet for the past two weeks my ears are ringing," she pointed out. "You wake up before me - and that never happens - and go out to buy croissants for breakfast, which never ever _ever_ happened before, and now _this_ ," she pointed at the knitting in Morticia's hands.

"Knitting is fun," Morticia insisted." It came together with some periodical you subscribe to so I gave it a try. Look, I knitted a winter hat for you and a pair of mittens to go with it," she said, pointing at the black beanie hat and a pair of mittens at the kitchen table. "We're going to practice shawl patterns next month, I'm going to make one for Granny. She loves handmade gifts"

"You're clearly gone insane," Debbie decided but picked the hat from the table and went over to the large mirror on the wall in the hall and put it on."I look so good in black."

"Natural-born widow," Morticia supplied."There will be a scarf to go with it as well."

"Thanks for all that but really, what the hell, Tish?"

"What do you mean?" she asked again, feigning confusion.

"Breakfast? Early wake-ups? Knitting? Either you want to marry me or you're depressed," Debbie decided, returning to the table, the beanie hat still on her head.

Morticia simply shrugged, raising the teacup to her lips and took a small sip of her hot beverage.

"Why, I think we'd be very happy together - you and me and the six digits on my trust fund," she supplied dryly.

"And the dowry," Debbie reminded, pointing at Morticia with her index finger.

"And the dowry," Morticia smiled." Nothing is bothering me," she added."I'm always quiet."

"Nooo," Debbie shook her head insistently, taking a croissant out of the paper bag and began munching on it."There's quiet and there is _quiet_. What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," Morticia assured, focusing back on her knitting work." I'm simply... ruminating."

Debbie blinked and continued to chew the soft pastry slowly, staring intently at the woman before her.

"Ruminating?"

Morticia nodded and smiled at her again.

"That's nice," Debbie replied, tearing another piece of the croissant and popping it into her mouth." You know, one day I'm going to take all your fancy vocabulary and shove it up your skinny,-" she paused and turned towards the door where the firm knock reverberated resounded loudly," are we expecting someone?"

Morticia shook her head.

"Not that I'm aware of."

"I bet it's the flowers again," Debbie predicted, already getting up from her chair.

"Ignore it."

Debbie ignored her, opening the door swiftly just when the knocking got indecently loud and glared at the man behind it. He was dressed in a green uniform with a baseball hat that said "Bloom and Gloom Florist Services".

"Break the door, why don't you," she said testily but the delivery man barely looked at her.

"Miss Morticia Frump?" he asked in a bored tone, chewing his gum loudly.

"Yeah," Debbie replied carelessly, leaning against the door frame.

The man spared her a quick look and his eyes travelled to the beanie hat on her head.

"You sure?" he asked again in the same bored tone.

"Yeah, you have something for me or you came for a chat?"

"You don't look like a Morticia," he insisted, scribbling something on the form.

"Well..." she sighed and looked at his name tag."You don't look like a Jackson. You look more like Fred. Should I call you Fred?"

The delivery guy glared at her.

"These are for you," he muttered, handing her a long rectangular box."Just sign here please."

Debbie took the pen and put a huge X in a dotted line.

"Seriously?"

"It's an M if you squint... Fred," Debbie retorted before closing the door in his face." He called me a bitch, can you believe it?" she said, outraged.

Morticia couldn't help but grin.

"Shocking."

Debbie put the box on the table and opened it, revealing a bouquet of red roses.

"You got roses from V.," she read the card slowly." _Again_."

Morticia couldn't help but wince slightly.

She had never regretted one-night stands - well, generally she never regretted them - but she was starting to suspect she had complicated her life quite a bit with this little tryst with Vlad. The man obviously did not understand the meaning behind one-night stands and couldn't take hints for the life of him. Surely, anyone with a half-brain would understand that she was not interested after she has blatantly ignored his messages for almost two whole weeks and hasn't returned a single phone call.

She wasn't looking for romance, he was _supposed_ to be a distraction but proved to be an extremely inefficient one and the last thing she wanted was a morning-after with Vlad. She wasn't in the mood for that.

"Is V the reason you're so quiet?" Debbie asked."You fell in love at that funeral?"

"I didn't fall in love with anyone, anywhere," she replied promptly, too promptly if the look on Debbie's face was anything to go by." The funeral was fun, I told you, you should have come."

"Thanks but I really can't stand your sister," she said."If you ever want her dead, remember me."

"You sweet thing, you," Morticia smiled."But that would ruin your reputation as a black widow."

"Ah, yeah, you're right," Debbie admitted unhappily."Oh, screw it, I'll make the sacrifice."

"Bless your heart."

"So… you and that V fella hooked up after the funeral?"

Morticia shrugged, finally abandoning her knitting and smoothed her hair, twirling the ends around her fingers.

"Ugh… sort of…," she admitted.

Debbie snorted loudly.

"Sort of? How can you sort of fuck?"

Morticia let out a tired sigh and leaned forward, propping her chin against the pillow of her hand.

"I'm not really in the mood to talk about it, to be honest."

Debbie nodded in understanding, finishing the rest of her croissant.

"Ah, I see," she said knowingly." He underfucked you."

"Undnerfu - that's not even a real word," Morticia pointed out.

"If Shakespeare could make up his own words so can Debbie Jellinsky."

"Touche."

"So, a case of bad sex?" Debbies asked, leaning over the breakfast table."Tell me all about it."

"It wasn't… bad, it's just… I don't know," she shrugged."It wasn't great."

"He clearly underfucked you," Debbie decided, and went to open the balcony door before throwing the roses out of the balcony and waited until they landed on the street."It will take more than a bunch of roses to repair the damage… jerk. Underfucking should be a crime."

Morticia couldn't help but smile.

Except, she thought, it wasn't exactly Vlad's fault.

All she wanted was a one night stand to forget about that absurd situation with Gomez Addams but the man she hoped would provide a distraction proved to be anything but, it wasn't entirely bad except it took all of her strength to focus on the task at hand and stop wishing he was someone else, half-way through Morticia decided that if Gomez Addams was going to ruin her sex life by his mere existence, she would simply have to kill him since sleeping with him wasn't an option.

He was her sister's husband, her brother-in-law, the mere thought made her wince.

A married man was one thing but a man married to her sister was something else entirely.

She didn't want to talk about him. She didn't even want to think about him and those gorgeous half-lidded eyes or how devilishly handsome he was and even the way he spoke, that tinted accent seemed to just churn her insides. There was something about him that set every nerve in her body alight. Primal, raw attraction and it irked her that she couldn't do anything about it, she couldn't have him. It irked her so much she didn't know what to do with herself.

She could not help but stare at him whenever she saw him, he was just ridiculously attractive and it was becoming increasingly clear to her that he was fighting with the same urge as she did. Most of the time he was trying his best not to look at her at all but on the occasions where their eyes met, his gaze burned with such lust it made her knees weak.

She didn't want Vlad, she wanted _him._

Except, there was nothing she could do about it, because there was no way she could ever get away with sleeping with her sister's husband.

* * *

Eudora Addams smiled at the sound of thunder reverberating through the Addams' mansion. It was such a delightfully depressing day, dark, heavy with the rain clouds covering the whole estate, it was brewing to be a truly wonderful storm.

She reached for a red leather-bound book and flipped absently through the pages before returning the book back on the shelf. She picked another one and repeated the whole thing again.

"May I suggest ' _East of Eden'_?" her husband's voice reached her from the sofa near the fireplace where he was sitting, enjoying his mid-morning reading of the latest business news.

"Hmmm," Eudora nodded."Gomez recommended it as well, I will have to finally read it."

Harald smiled at her before returning to the page he was reading.

"Have you seen Gomez today?" she asked.

"Briefly, he said he had meetings in the city today so he left early," he informed her, without taking his eyes off the newspaper."Why?"

"Oh, nothing, he works such long hours lately - "

"It will get easier when we get a new accountant."

"Ah, yes, how is that going?"

"Terribly," Harald sighed."Who would have thought it would be so hard to find someone with a decent knowledge of tax evasion, it's ridiculous."

"That's true," Eudora agreed absently."Darling, do you think Ophelia would mind if I invited Morticia over?"

Harald Addams lifted his head from the paper he was skimming through and took off his glasses, slowly leaning against the vintage sofa.

"Last time I checked this is still your house," he replied testily."You may invite whomever you please, you don't need anyone's permission."

Eudora rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"Now, now I didn't mean it that way," she appeased."It's just…"

She paused and wrinkled her nose briefly, before finally letting out a gentle shrug.

"What?" he prompted.

"I just don't think Ophelia and Morticia…," she paused again, pressing her lips together." Well, I don't think they get along very well and I don't want to add logs to the fire."

"Then don't invite her," Harald retorted.

"But I want her to see the estate," she insisted."And I'm also propagating a few plants she might like. She said she loved my conservatory."

"Ah yes, nothing pleases my dear wife as an eager audience," he laughed.

"Oh, don't tease."

"I don't think Ophelia would mind if you invited Morticia," he decided." Anyway, here's your chance to ask her," he added motioning his head towards the door.

Eudora turned to see her daughter-in-law apparently all ready to go out for the day, Lurch standing behind her with the umbrella ready. It has started to pour down.

"Ophelia, dear," Eudora called after her."Do you have a minute?"

Ophelia stopped and turned towards her mother-in-law.

"Of course," she said and smiled at her expectantly.

She looked like she was in a hurry. She wore a powder pink suit and the air around her was heavy with those daisy perfumes she had purchased recently and Eudora had to clear her throat to prevent herself from coughing. Devil only knew how her son could stand that scent lingering in the bedroom all the time, she wouldn't be able to sleep with all that flowery scent everywhere.

"Yes, well, I was wondering if it would be alright with you if I invited your sister over?"

Ophelia frowned, obviously this wasn't the question she expected.

"Invite Morticia?" she asked slowly. "Here?"

"I wanted to show her the estate, she said she'd love to see it and I have some plants she might be interested in having -"

Ophelia sighed and shifted impatiently.

"Okay, yeah, it's just…," she interjected." I already have plans for next week, so I most likely won't be home until dinner."

Eudora nodded understandingly.

"Well, that's a shame but I'm sure I can keep your sister entertained, if that's fine with you," she replied.

"Well, yeah, sure, if that's what you like," Ophelia agreed and then smiled again."I don't mind at all but I really need to go now."

"Oh, of course," Eudora nodded."Have fun."

"See?" Her husband smiled at her when she returned to the library."Wasn't that bad, was it?"

Eudora only murmured in lukewarm agreement.

"They don't seem to spend much time together," she said quietly, more to herself than to her husband.

"Who?"

"Gomez and Ophelia."

Harald shrugged, apparently unconcerned.

"They're fine," he assessed."It's nice that she has things to occupy herself with."

"I didn't mean that," she retorted, shaking her head."It just seems that, for a newly wedded couple, they seem to spend more time apart than together. It's just… odd."

Harald shrugged, licking his index finger before turning another page in the newspaper.

"I don't think it's odd at all," he countered."As you pointed out, Gomez is very busy running the family business, what is she supposed to do? Watch him do paperwork?"

He was utterly missing her point but there was no point in pursuing the subject any further. Maybe he was right, maybe she was worrying for nothing.

"I guess," she replied unconvincingly."Well, anyway, let me call the Frumps then, Particia said that the girl doesn't live with them and I didn't even ask for her number."

Harald raised his eyebrow and shook his head disapprovingly.

"Unmarried and living on her own," he muttered to himself."What is the world coming to."

* * *

For the first time in days, Gomez Addams decided he was actually feeling hopeful. He felt like there was a light in the tunnel among all the misery that engulfed him lately. He felt relaxed and, dared he said it, he was actually having quite a good time. He was suddenly grateful to Ophelia for arranging this double date dinner with Gerland and Holly, it felt good to get out of the house and _L'oscar_ was one of his favourite restaurants.

He turned to glance at his wife who was having a very animated conversation with Holly, gossiping really but at least she was having a good time. She looked beautiful too. He liked the backless emerald velvet dress she wore. She styled her hair in gentle waves, just reaching her shoulders - the way her favourite actress did, he forgot what her name was, Greta or Grace, something like that. He will have to find out.

"What deal?" Ophelia turned suddenly towards Gerald.

It was amazing really, how Ophelia could be busy talking to someone, seemingly giving them all her attention and yet she always knew what was going on around her.

Although, business talk rarely interested her. No, scratch that, business talk absolutely never interested her, she seemed bored to death whenever he attempted to tell her about his day.

"Haven't you told her?" Gerald asked him.

"No, I haven't got a chance," Gomez lied.

"Tell me what?" Ophelia turned towards him with a curious expression on her face.

"Your husband here invested recently in land that everybody thought was flushing money down the drain," Gerald started pausing for a dramatic effect."Well, it turned out the boy struck gold again - they found oil reserves there, lucky dog, I don't know how he does it!"

"Oh, well done, honey," Ophelia said simply and smiled at him."So I guess we're even richer now."

"I guess so," Gomez smiled back.

"It's like the time you bought that bloody farm in the middle of nowhere," Gerald continued." And wham! Uranium mine. The government bought it off him for a - "

"Oh, Gerald darling, we're here to have fun not to talk business," Holly interjected with a huff of faux annoyance.

"Exactly," Ophelia nodded."Business is for the boys club. Wives have no business in business."

"Well put," Gerald agreed with a cheerful laugh."Anyway, do you know who your sister is seeing?"

Gomez almost groaned out loud. Gerald, for all his condescending comments about women and gossip and all that, seemed to behave exactly in the way he so often condemned.

"Gerald, darling, I swear you're worse gossip than all of us put together," Holly teased.

"Now, that's a lie, my pet," Gerald retorted good-naturedly."Gossiping is for women."

"Of course it is," his wife retorted facetiously before directing her attention back to Ophelia."Oh my God, do you remember that time when Morticia didn't attend her debutante ball?"

"How could I _not_ remember that?" Ophelia gasped and Gomez almost rolled his eyes at the exaggerated theatricals."She'd spent the entire night in some seedy bar with some cutthroats. Mama was livid."

Gomez couldn't help but laugh.

"It wasn't funny, Gomez," Ophelia reprimanded."We really thought Mama was going to rip her into shreds. Papa asked Granny to take Morticia for an extended European holiday - that's how bad it was."

"I'm still in awe of Mrs Frump for her ability to hush the whole thing," Holly supplied appreciatively."My mother would have killed me a thousand times if I dared such a thing."

"I know, right?"

Holly giggled, twirling the strand of her blond hair around her fingers before her gaze rested on Gomez.

No, he thought, she looked straight through him, or rather behind him and suddenly he felt a sense of being watched.

"Jesus, why does she always look like she's going to the funeral?" Holly asked.

"Who?" Ophelia asked and turned, following her friend's gaze." Oh, God, what are they doing here?" she moaned but then her lips stretched into a wide smile and she waved frantically.

He did not dare to turn to see who she was waving at, he _knew_. He knew even if they didn't mention it. He felt suddenly hot and his heart started beating furiously. He didn't want her to be here, he didn't want to see her or talk to her and yet at the same time he longed to do nothing else but to stare at her for the rest of eternity. Admire her as if she was a precious work of art.

"Cousin! What a surprise."

The hell it was, Gomez thought with annoyance. Vlad knew bloody well they were coming here for dinner tonight. What was he trying to do? Show off his catch? He felt like punching him in the face but that would certainly be difficult to explain to his wife.

He got up to greet them and his heart just stopped beating at the sight of her.

God, she was so beautiful. She was divine. And this dress, good God, he longed for nothing more than to run his fingers against the black lace and his eyes followed the low neckline almost unwittingly.

He was damned. He was damned all the way to hell and for eternity.

"Why, if it isn't my darling sister," Morticia greeted and placed a brief kiss on her sister's cheek.

She turned towards him, extending her hand.

"And my dear brother-in-law."

"Nice to see you again," he managed to mutter, kissing her extended hand.

The feeling on that pale skin under his lips was almost too much and his throat felt suddenly dry. He felt almost relieved when she retrieved her hand gently.

"What a surprise to see you both here," Ophelia greeted warmly, placing her hand gently on Gomez's knee.

"I nagged her relentlessly and she has finally agreed to have a drink with me," Vlad replied facetiously."She probably only agreed to it so I would finally stop bothering her."

"That's true, actually," Morticia supplied in a deadpan manner and Gomez couldn't help but smirk.

"Why don't you join us for dinner," Gerald insisted warmly."We'll make sure you two love birds are behaving yourself," he added, immediately laughing at his own joke and winking at Morticia.

"Gerald, really, stop embarrassing them," Holly reprimanded, slapping her husband gently on the arm.

"I jest, my dear."

"Although, we are indeed more that happen to chaperone," Holly grinned at them above her drink.

"Out of the question," Vlad replied."I want this lovely lady all to myself. It was a hard job to lure her out for a drink, I'm not going to risk exposing her to the charms of my dear cousin here."

"Oh, you're incorrigible," Ophelia scolded half-heartedly and Gomez didn't miss the slight roll of Morticia's eyes.

She looked as if she found the whole exchange unbelievably tedious.

"Mother said you will be coming over next weekend," Ophelia turned towards her sister.

"It is Granny's seventieth birthday party," Morticia pointed out.

"Ah yes, Granny is the only person in the whole family that Morticia wouldn't dare to refuse to come to a family celebration," Ophelia teased.

"Yes, well, as stimulating as this conversation is," Morticia interjected with a charming smile."We wouldn't like to impose on your marital affections."

"Such a cynic, Tish," her sister laughed.

"Enjoy your dinner."

"I'm sorry about her," Ophelia sighed when Morticia and Vlad moved towards the bar." I told you, she is so… difficult."

"She seems perfectly lovely," he said before he could think it through and immediately wanted to bash his head into the nearest wall.

What kind of bloody idiot was he exactly?

Ophelia, however, let out an amused giggle.

"Oh, darling, you're such a gentleman," she looked at him, shaking her head."But lovely is not a word anyone would associate with my sister. Although your cousin seemed quite besotted. He pestered me for over a week to give him Morticia's number."

"He did?"

"Yes, didn't I tell you? I must have forgotten," she said and waved her hand carelessly.

"Poor bastard," Gerald supplied over the rim of his drink."He doesn't know what's coming for him.

Gomez loved his cousin like a brother - usually - but at that moment he wanted nothing more than to throw Vlad into a bottomless pit full of venomous snakes.

* * *

She was beginning to absolutely hate Gomez Addams' very existence.

Well, almost.

It was hard to hate him somehow. He was insanely attractive, yes, but there was also this startling vulnerability about him, there was this longing in his gaze that felt to her uncannily familiar.

She almost groaned out loud.

Naturally, the bar would be in the direct view of the dining area. She had no idea how she was supposed to have a drink and conversation with Vlad without staring at Gomez Addams the whole time. Perhaps, she should suggest a change of venue? Since she didn't really feel like spending her evening in practically the same room as her sister and her friends either.

She started to vehemently regret that she listened to Debbie's advice and agreed to this drink with Vlad. How on earth did they even end up in the same restaurant as her sister? The city was huge, with more bars and restaurants than one could count and yet here they all were. Ridiculous.

"Sneaking out of the hotel room was really bad manners, Miss Frump."

She watched him for a moment as he leaned against the back of his velvet, burgundy chair and rested his elbow against the onyx bar, with a rather forced nonchalance. She thought he looked nervous.

"I'm not a huge fan of the morning after awkwardness," she retorted after a while and tried not to smirk when he shifted in his seat.

"Fair enough," he nodded, his lips stretching into a charming smile."Neither am I. Wine?"

"Please."

She waited silently as he ordered their drinks and glanced towards the table where her sister was apparently enjoying herself to the fullest being her usual obstreperous self, laughing at something in her practised laugh. Her sister had two kinds of laughs, one - the genuine one, when she actually found something amusing and the one she perfected over the years - the one she used at social gatherings, the one she used to flirt, the one she used to laugh at the dull jokes men told her. Ophelia was good at entertaining people, one had to give her that.

Her eyes travelled towards him, she thought briefly that he fitted the decor of this place perfectly, he fitted the deep browns, the rich reds and burnished golds around them, but unlike the restaurant, he seemed to her effortlessly sumptuous and she just couldn't stop staring at him.

"Are you okay staying here?" Vlad asked her and she turned her head towards him abruptly.

"Pardon?"

She didn't like the look he gave her, brief as it was, but still, like he had caught her red-handed. Or perhaps she was imagining things. Has he noticed her staring at him?

"If you don't feel comfortable with your sister being here, we can go somewhere else," he offered and she almost let out a sigh of relief.

It would be a sensible thing to do, there were plenty of bars and restaurants on this street alone after all. Only an imbecile would stay here with the proverbial forbidden fruit a mere few feet away from her, where she wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything else but him.

"Not at all," she replied.

She was an imbecile, apparently. She picked up her wine glass and resisted the almost overwhelming urge to drain the whole thing down.

But that would be unladylike.

"Good," he smiled at her and cleared his throat gently. "You know, there's a lovely exhibition at the Metropolitan. We could go together. "

"Oh, I'm afraid, I am not a big fan of exhibitions," she replied smoothly and watched his forehead crease in confusion.

"You're...not?"

She shook her head.

"They bore me to death," she continued with an exaggerated sigh before taking a small sip of her wine and smiled at him.

"Ehmm, but your sister said you like to paint," he told her, still frowning like he couldn't believe what she was telling him.

"Oh, that," Morticia laughed gently."She meant my nails."

She lifted her palm and wriggled her fingers at him, showing off her red nails.

"Do you like it? It's called 'Vermillion Red', a rather unimaginative name but I love the colour," she said, inspecting her nails intently.

He looked at her like she just grew a second head.

"Are you making fun of me?" he asked but she only batted her eyelashes at him."You're making fun of me."

She only smiled in reply.

"For a moment it felt as if I was talking to Ophelia," he muttered and took a small sip of his gin.

"Look," he continued." I know we've started off rather...quick, maybe too quickly and…it might feel awkward but...I like you," he said paused, watching her reaction but Morticia merely looked back at him, politely expectant. "We can slow down and just… get to know each other."

"Are you asking me for permission to court me?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side, amused by the very idea.

"Yes," he smiled."I suppose I am."

She looked away from him briefly and pressed her lips together.

"Vlad, I'm not... interested in a romantic relationship," she explained gently, resting her gaze at him again."I wasn't looking for anything more beyond that one night. I'm sorry if I didn't make it clear enough."

Although, for the love of God, how much clearer could she have made it?

"Alright, fair enough," he let out a half-embarrassed laugh and licked his lips briefly."But as I said, no rush, we can take it...easy, if you know what I mean."

That was it, she would never indulge in one night stands with any stranger met at a funeral again.

Unless that stranger was Gomez Addams. Then maybe.

In a universe where he was not married to her sister, that was. Then yes.

"So what do you say?" he prompted gently.

She had no idea where on earth Vlad imagined this was going but then, there was no harm in indulging in a little fun, was there?

If he wanted to take it slow, by all means, they could take it slow.

Really. _Really_ , slow.

A little fun while she figured out how to take Gomez Addams out of her mind - Scotland sounded like a good destination to forget about him- nice and far. Russia, maybe.

Anything far away from him.

Far from something that could only end in disaster.

* * *

God, this was getting more than a little ridiculous.

She really didn't know how she was supposed to avoid Gomez Addams and all the carnal temptations that came with him if the universe constantly conspired to throw them together. If this situation was a test to check how much self-control she had then she had very little. Certainly not enough to be in such close proximity with him more often than once a week but here she was, touring the Addams estate with Eudora Addams.

On the other hand, what was she to say? It would be impolite to refuse and, besides, she didn't want to decline the invitation because she genuinely wanted to see the Addams estate - it was simply enchanting. It wasn't her fault that _he_ happened to live here as well.

The whole estate was magnificent, though. She almost felt jealous that her sister was living in such a marvellous place. If she thought she loved it almost a month ago at the funeral, then she was absolutely obsessed now. The Addams family history was wildly fascinating, she could listen to Eudora Addams talking about all the various relatives for hours and hours.

"Dear Uncle Imack, pulled limb for limb by four wild horses," the older woman introduced as they slowly passed the limbless statue.

"That's truly horrible."

"They said they could hear his screams in the next town," Eudora supplied."They probably exaggerated but it was certainly one of the most gruesome deaths in the family."

"It's so fascinating," she said."Enviable even."

"Isn't it?" Eudora agreed and smiled at her as they moved to the next tomb.

"Vulture?" Morticia asked, inspecting the statue curiously.

"Ah, dear Muerte, he belonged to my son, Fester," Eudora explained before her voice took an undeniably wistful tone." He... withered away after he left. We couldn't help him. He wouldn't peck, he wouldn't hunt…"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't realize - "

"Oh, no, Fester's not dead," Eudora shook her head, patting Morticia's arm gently."He's… away."

"Travelling?"

"Something like that," the older woman replied evasively.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to pry."

"No, no, don't worry," Eudora smiles at her." I don't mind. It's just… it's complicated, that's all - ah, Aunt Laborcia, executed by the firing squad."

"Did any Addams die of natural causes?" Morticia asked, looking at the holes in the tomb.

"Not that I know of," Eudora grinned proudly."Addamses come from a long line of psychopaths, mad dark killers - pioneers."

"Quite a family to marry into," Morticia laughed gently.

"Oh, they are very unique, no doubt about that," Eudora admitted, with a gentle laugh of her own."I feel our poor Ophelia is still a bit overwhelmed."

"She seems happy," Morticia replied.

She supposed her sister would be always blissfully happy as long as she had money and the privileges that came with being so insanely wealthy but she also imagined that Ophelia probably wasn't at all excited about living at the Addams mansion at all. She wouldn't be surprised if she was already planning on buying a mansion of her own, in the suburbs no less.

"I'm glad you think so," Eudora admitted." Marriage is quite an adjustment"

"I imagine it is," she agreed politely.

"You're not very interested in getting married yourself, are you?" Eudora noticed.

"No more than I would be with spending the rest of my life in a purgatory," Morticia replied.

Eudora tilted her head and laughed heartily at her response.

"I was just like you once," she said.

"Oh? So what changed?"

"Well, I had a penchant for handsome men in uniforms," she smirked and Morticia couldn't help but laugh."Harald was and is one of a kind."

"If you're still so fond of him after all these years then it certainly must be love," Morticia supplied.

They both turned towards the sound of the footsteps behind them to see Gomez. Curiously, Morticia noticed, without his usual cigar.

Why did he always have to look so handsome? She thought he looked absolutely delicious in his red shirt and dark brown corduroy suit. He probably looked even more delicious without any of it.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," he apologised."But Mrs Griffith is on the phone, she said it's urgent."

"Oh, Llewelyn is in my coven, you will have to forgive me for a moment, my dear," Eudora explained regrettably.

"Of course," Morticia nodded.

"Gomez, darling, would you keep Morticia company for a few minutes, please? I will be back as soon as I can," she assured."We were just on our way to visit the grandparents."

He only got a chance to nod before his mother left them all alone, which was not a good idea.

Such a bad idea, in fact.

"Did your mother say " _coven","_ Morticia asked him, pointing with her index finger in the direction of the mansion, where his mother just disappeared into and he smiled at the obvious disbelief in her tone.

"Yes ehm… they're getting busy this time of the year," he replied nonchalantly.

"Coven as in _coven_ of witches?" she clarified.

He nodded.

"So… you're mother is a - "

"A witch," he supplied, genuinely amused.

"A witch," she repeated, nodding her head as she tried to process the information."A witch. Right, of course."

How did her sister, with her pastel personality, ended up married to an absolutely gorgeous man who lived in a wonderfully dark and gloomy mansion, with a cemetery, a family full of mad dark killers and psychopaths and a mother-in-law who belonged to a coven of witches?

What alternative universe was this and how could she escape? This was unbearable.

She should have never ever returned from Europe. What on earth had come over her?

"Your grandparents?" she asked, as they stopped under a huge tomb depicting two terrified people, shielding themselves with their hands.

"Grandfather and Grandmama Addams," he nodded."Killed while vacationing in Romania by an angry mob."

"Oh dear, that's so tragic."

"She was accused of witchcraft and it went downhill from there" he explained and cleared his throat." He...ehm...he loved her very much, he always said he would die and kill for her."

She smiled and turned towards him.

"That's sweet, they must have been quite a pair," she commented.

"They were," he whispered.

He suddenly couldn't focus on anything but those glorious lips.

"Do I make you nervous, Gomez?"

"No," he replied immediately."No, I - "

"You seem nervous," she pointed out.

"I'm not nervous," he assured but then cleared his throat again.

She did not make him nervous. Or maybe she did, he didn't know, he couldn't focus, she made him feel so many things and all at once, he wouldn't know where to start describing exactly how she made him feel.

He wanted to run away. He couldn't stand being in her company a minute longer. She was more wonderful than he could ever imagine. He wanted to run his fingers against that alabaster skin and the crimson of her lips. All he wanted was to fall on his knees before her and pledge his eternal love for her, he wanted to be lost in her forever. He wanted nothing but her.

She turned away from him to read the inscription on the tomb.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he blurted out loud and winced immediately as he watched her stiffen momentarily at his words.

She turned slowly towards him, a small knowing smile on her face as she regarded him intently.

"And what are you going to do about it?"

He didn't reply, he had no words to respond to her with. He was surely imagining things because there was no chance that she really asked him that.

Her fingers brushed his lightly but she might have as well whipped him and he grabbed her hand, pressing a firm kiss to the inside of her palm, wrapping his fingers around hers.

Her touch felt burning on his skin when she cupped his chin and turned his face towards her.

"Tell me what you want," she whispered.

He shook his head.

"I don't know," he replied meekly and moaned when she ran her thumb along his bottom lip.

"Oh, but you do."

"I can't - "

He shook his head again and closed his eyes, desperate to block the image of her from his mind but it was futile. Her presence alone assaulted his sense and he felt trapped in her, he couldn't move. He felt lost in her touch, the soft velvet of her voice made his insides burn.

"Is this what you want, Gomez?" she asked, barely brushing her lips against his.

It worked like a thunderbolt, his eyes snapped open and before she knew it his arm encircled her waist and she was pressed firmly against his body, she rested her hands against his broad chest almost instinctively. Her heart was beating so hard she was certain he could feel it. She almost whimpered when his lips crashed against hers, hard and intense and it felt so good it made her head spin. She wanted to melt into him, to savour the feel and taste of him. She deepened their kiss and felt him moan into her mouth before attacking her lips with such ferocity she could barely catch her breath.

She pressed herself against him and she slipped her fingers into his hair, just at the nape of his neck, moaning gently when she felt his palm caress her hip and gasped when he pressed her roughly against the cold stone of the tomb.

He didn't stop kissing her, his tongue duelled with hers until she felt her grip on reality slip rapidly and she couldn't focus on anything else but him.

"Gods, I can't," he moaned suddenly, in a tone of desperate plea and immediately let go of her and slammed his fist against the tomb and she jumped slightly at the suddenness of his action.

She rested her hands back on his chest, needing something to ground her and felt his body immediately tense under her touch. She didn't want this to stop, she didn't care who saw them, she wanted him so much, she wanted those lips back against hers.

"I'm sorry, I can't," he whispered before she could say anything and pulled away from her.

She blinked, suddenly disoriented by the loss of his warmth and watched him storm back towards the mansion.

She leaned against the large tomb and closed her eyes briefly, her legs felt weak, shaking. She has never felt like this with any man before. It felt insane.

Her whole body felt charged, electrified, her hands tingled with the need to touch him again. He felt so good, he tasted _so good,_ absolutely intoxicating, better than anything she could have imagined and she knew that whatever qualms she's had about sleeping with him were rapidly deserting her.

It was abhorrent, both her thoughts and her actions but she couldn't find it in herself to feel guilty over any of it. At this moment she didn't care about anything or anyone but to feel his body against hers again. She didn't care what that made her or who will get hurt in the process. All she cared about was _him_.

She reached and touched her lips, still tingling from his kisses, and smiled to herself.

* * *

Gomez barged into the library, breathless, and immediately reached for the crystal decanter and poured the amber liquid furiously into the glass, trying to calm his hammering heart. His hands felt clammy and shaking as he raised the glass to his lips and downed it in one go before pouring himself another one.

"You bastard," he whispered to himself, drying his hands against his trousers."You stupid, despicable bastard."

What kind of despicable human being behaved like that? He was married, for God's sake, and to her sister no less. And Vlad… gods, is it history repeating itself? Was there no respite for him?

Why her, oh good God, why did it have to be her?

If only she'd turn him down, if she told him to go to hell, if she didn't kiss him, if she -

The devil, what was he trying to prove? Why was he trying to put a blame on her?

She wasn't to blame because he knew he would pursue her relentlessly no matter what. If she asked him to divorce Ophelia this very second, he would. If she asked him to jump into a fire for her, he would. He was to blame, or maybe they both were but he was the one married.

And yet he knew he would do anything for her. He would die for her. He would kill for her.

He wanted her so much his blood was aflame at the mere sight of her.

He looked at the glass and frowned, noticing the crimson stains on the crystal and immediately touched his lips.

Her lipstick. Good Lord, what an absurd cliche, he thought as he licked his lips and instinctively reached for his silk handkerchief to wipe the evidence of his unsavoury misdeed.

He groaned at the idiocy of his action.

Nothing better than to have the said unsavoury evidence all over his handkerchief.

"Thing," he called.

The pet materialized next to him within seconds.

"Get rid of it," he handed him both the glass and the handkerchief.

Thing took the handkerchief from him and tapped.

"I don't know… throw it away, burn it," he barked and rubbed his palms against his face.

Thing tapped again, hesitantly.

"Yes, I'm aware it's not my wife's lipstick, just do what I said!"

He had to stay the hell away from her. This couldn't happen ever again. He will never touch her again -

"Thing, tell Lurch to prepare one extra set," he heard his mother's voice."I have invited Morticia to dine with us tonight."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading!**


End file.
